


Amoral Monogamist

by RyMagnatar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adultery, Cheating, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Pesterlog, Shooting Guns, Sleepy Sex, Spelunking, age difference of 5+ years, assholes, biased assholes, improper relationships with boss, manwhoring, references to threesomes and then some, rifles, sex while also pretty much asleep, slutty behavior, very mild dubcon in chapter 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-24 09:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyMagnatar/pseuds/RyMagnatar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider sleeps around. He's a grown man, its his choice and his life. But his mother doesn't seem to understand that, and neither does his sister. They give him shit for his lifestyle choice any time it crosses their mind, it seems like. </p><p>This is the story about how he meets Eridan Ampora. It turns out you can be a relatively amoral, genocidal, pretentious asshole and still practice monogamy and celibacy before commitment. </p><p>Dave tries to break Eridan, to wear him down, and doesn't ever expect that he's the one that will crumble under pressure. Perhaps it is because in the end, Eridan is more stubborn than he is. Perhaps it is simply because Dave lacks the same conviction.</p><p>In the end, there must be sacrifices made and balance must be achieved- if they are ever to commit to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kindness of Strangers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ribbonelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonelle/gifts).



With a shopping cart full of juice, soda, frozen pizzas and meals and some impulsively selected cheese-wiz and wheat thins, you decide your shopping trip is adequate and head to the checkout lines. It’s Saturday morning, so it’s busy as fuck and the lines all extend a good ten feet back. There are squalling babies and worn out parents. There are college kids trying to get forgotten items for the weekend. There’s this one guy in a stylish coat and a long scarf checking his phone. He doesn’t look like he has too many things in his cart, so you pull up behind him.

He’s not so bad looking either. He’s got high cheekbones and black hair with a purple stripe in it. He seems like your kind of douchebag. You lean against the side of your cart and tuck your other hand into your pocket. “Yo.”

He puts up a finger, a universal ‘one second’ motion, while his other hand taps out a message on his phone. As he tucks it into his pocket, he looks up at you. His eyes are a stunning deep blue. Oh you could just eat him up and come back for seconds. “Yes?” You don’t even get a moment to respond because his gaze slides down from you to your cart and he fucking laughs. “Wow.”

“What?” Something about his tone really sets you on edge.

“You got one a the best whole foods stores in the country at your disposal an’ you use it to fill your body with that shit? The fuck is wrong with you?” he gestures to your cart of food. “That shit is gonna fuckin’ kill you one day, or at least fuck you up.”

You look again at his cart and realize that it’s all produce. You don’t even know the name of half the stuff he’s getting. Oh fuck. Did you strike up a conversation with a vegan hipster? “We’re all going to die someday, and tell me, is it worth putting it off? Have you _seen_ what they’re coming out with on TV next year?”

“No. I haven’t got time for regular fuckin’ TV, what makes you think I’ve got time for shitty TV?” He pulls up his upper lip in revulsion. This fucker is a piece of work, wasn’t he? At least he isn’t causing a scene, on top of all the rest of his weird shit.

“No time for TV? Are you sure you’re even American?”

He lifts his chin in pride. “Historically speakin’, American’s were known first for their intrepid pioneerin’ spirit an’ dedication. This slovenly, fat pig a society needs to be butchered an’ barbequed in a pit so the rest a us can finally get rewarded for carryin’ their disgustin’ selves on our backs.”

You are momentarily stunned. “That is… surprisingly drastic.”

“You do admit that the country is fucked up, though.” He narrows his eyes at you, as if to dare you to question that assertion. You almost do, to mess with him. But you’re more curious to hear what he has to say next. So you nod your head slightly. “There isn’t any way to create widespread change,” the guy says. He lifts his hands, starts talking with them. “Not when so many people over such a great land area are fucked up in the head. A top down change isn’t gonna fix any fuckin’ thing at all, and a bottom up change will only have two outcomes.”

“And what are those?” You think he and Rose would really get along. In the, I fucking hate your ideas but you won’t shut up about them, sort of way.

“Either things will move to quickly an escalate everythin’ from civil unrest to civil war or it’s gonna take so fuckin’ long that it will last for generations, spreadin’ out this agony a shiftin’ from a shithole to a fuckfest an’ basically gettin’ us nowhere. In both cases we’re as fucked as can be. So there has to be an alternate route.” He looks really animated talking about this. You have no idea someone crazy could look so attractive while actually being insane in your presence.

“So what, we kick everyone out?”

He shakes his head. “No, fuck that. It’s not goin’ to work. We can’t _keep_ anyone out let alone kickin’ them out.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

He blinks. “We kill them.”

You hold your breath. You count to ten. You wait for him to laugh it off like John would and say he was just kidding. After counting to ten three times you realize he’s fucking serious. He’s so fucking serious and he’s waiting for your response. So you rock back on your heels and make that ‘hmm’ noise of thoughtfulness. He waits. You have his full attention.

It’s now you realize that before when he was talking, it wasn’t all to you. He was only incidentally looking at you. But now, right now, you have all of his attention. His eyes are riveted to you, his entire body is turned towards you and even his hand points towards you where he holds onto the side of his cart. You drag it out as long as you can, because you feed off of shit like that. You know you do, you don’t even bother trying to deny it. After long enough, you lean in and say, “We? All right.”

He fucking grins at you. You notice his canines, you don’t know why you do, but they’re sharp and white and match his grin. It’s hardly happy. It’s all teeth and homicidal intent.

It’s about then that the woman in front of him is finishing checking out. So he turns away from you, that grin sliding off his features like rainwater from an umbrella. He puts his things on the conveyor belt and talks to the cashier as though he hadn’t just admitted to genocidal thoughts.

You get another good look at his profile, and his ass, and you’re thinking about his hands when you realize he’s paying and about to leave. You don’t even know his name. “Hey, wait a second,” you call out as he swipes his card. He signs with one hand and looks up to you, arching an eyebrow curiously. “Have you got a pen?”

“Me? Nah.” He shakes his head.

The cashier clears her throat, “Here’s one, sir.”

“Thanks…Jane.” You briefly read her nametag off her shirt. You take the pen and step up to the guy. “Can I see your hand?”

That untrusting look is back, suspicious of your actions, “I don’t know. Can you?”

“Oh shut up and give me your hand.”

He offers it and you turn it over. You scrawl your number on his palm, along with your first name. His distrusting gaze is replaced with a surprised one. You swear you see a hint of red on his cheeks. You give Jane back her pen and thank her for it. He grabs his paper bags, puts them in his cart and walks off. He glances back over his shoulder. You make sure to catch it to give him a little wave, so he knows that you were watching him go.

The cashier and you share a conspiring smile. When you leave, she offers you luck instead of just another have a good day. You thank her, feeling pretty damn good about yourself.

* * *

CA: tuesday night are you busy?  
TG: the fuck is this  
CA: ugh  
CA: hello asshole in the shades an hoodie like hes some sort of urban hero dont think for a second i missed the short swword slung around your hips like youre trouncin around in a renaissance festivval   
CA: it is i the charmin an unassumin handsome felloww you decided to chat wwith at the grocery store wwhere im assumin you dont typically pick people up cause your skills wwere seriously lackin in that avvenue a activity  
CA: so are you busy tuesday fuckin night or wwill you be at home wwankin to your shitty tvv showws?  
TG: that depends i think a new episode of the real housewives is on and you know i cant miss shit like that   
CA: record it or somethin  
CA: cause youre goin to be out  
TG: out? out doing what  
CA: spelunkin   
CA: i sense your hesitation at such a thing but let me assure you it is worth the drivve  
TG: drive? where would we be driving to exactly  
CA: thats a surprise. i cant be goin out an givvin away all my secrets noww can i. the place is a little out there but i think you wwill really fuckin enjoy it  
TG: i can honestly say that i am looking forward to this now. so its tuesday night at what time  
CA: takes about half an hour to get there so make it four? dont wworry bout dinner I got that handled  
TG: sounds good. i will text you my address then and have you pick me up  
CA: all right  
CA: make sure you wwear the proper shoes just sayin

* * *

Sunday finds you in your usual place. You may be a bit of a flirt and more than incidentally willing to go to bed with a stranger, but Sunday finds you where you belong. Or at least that’s what your mom tells you time and time again. In the morning you get up and shower off Saturday night. There are still sparkles on your skin even after you scrub for half an hour, but that’s what you get for fucking Feferi.

By the time you’ve showered, she’s awake and brushing her long hair and Aradia’s in the kitchen making breakfast. Omelets. They’re more interested in each other in the morning, talking over you and around you like you’re not there. You don’t mind it much. You dress and eat and kiss each of them on the cheek when you leave. They have their own Sunday plans. Aradia says she’ll call you in a few weeks and Feferi says she’ll text.

You spend a few hours at home, fiddling with your music, but not really having any heart to work on it right then. After you’ve pissed away the time, you clean yourself up properly in your own shower and dress nicely.

Mom can’t cook for shit, but somehow you all manage every week.

You roll up in your truck with some flowers for Mom - it’s your turn this week- and just in time to get the garage spot from Rose who come’s cruising in after you. She gets out of her car and gives you a cool stare with a slightly raised chin. And then without a word she goes around to the other side and opens the door.

You mutter a curse under your breath. Damn. She’s brought home a date? There’s those fifty bucks you bet.

Rose walks sedately up the front yard, arm in arm with her new beau. He’s a big guy, fucking huge, actually, and he holds his arm out to her like she’s some sort of empress. You can’t ignore the smug look on her face as she passes you, so you narrow your eyes and walk up behind them. Sticking your head between them, you put one arm around her and one around his hips and say, “Nice catch, sis. Good ass on this one.”

You move to lower  your hand for an assgrab, but the big guy is nimble on his feet and deftly steps out from under you. Rose gives you a smile that’s like ice and says, “Hands to yourself, Dave. I would hate to have to spend Sunday night in the ER because of your stupidity. Again.”

You’d tempt her with a ‘who me?’ or a ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about’ but you know she would just bring it up. You’d rather her arsenal of knowledge about you was not spilled to the ears of a common asshole like her new boyfriend, thank you very fucking much.

Once she’s sure you’ve backed down, Rose turns to address the door. She doesn’t ring the bell, just unlocks the door with a key and steps in, announcing as she does, “Mother! We’re here!”

“We?” comes the voice from within. Rose leads her man into the house, you trail after, biting your cheek. She could at least have given you a proper heads up about bringing the guy over. You could have found someone to bring too. “Is that just you and your brother dear?”

“No, Mother,” you can hear the smile in Rose’s voice.

Mom comes around the corner, wearing an apron that’s too white to have been used, and holding a drink in her left hand. She gasps dramatically when she sees Rose and her date. “Oh Rosie, who is this?”

“Equius Zahhak, this is my mother Dr. Roxy Lalonde.”

He bows. He fucking _bows_. And takes your mom’s hand and kisses the back of it. The look that Rose gives you over her shoulder pisses you off.

Your mom, thoroughly charmed, welcomes him into the house and begins to give him her usual questions. He answers them well, not too quickly, but it’s obvious to you that Rose coached him. When she leads Zahhak into the dining room, you’re left alone with Rose for just long enough to hiss, “A little warning would have been nice, sis.”

“So you could have brought one of your whores to a family dinner? I think not.” She frowns at you, “I’m serious about him, Dave. And it’s about time that you stopped fucking around, don’t you think?”

“No. I don’t think--,”

“And therein lies the problem. You don’t think. Ever. Now are you going to give those flowers to Mother or would you like to break them in your meaty fist some more?” He arches her eyebrow at you. You want to hit her with the flowers, but you’re not a kid anymore so you wouldn’t get away with it. Instead you spit a curse at her and stomp off to give your mom the flowers.

Rose’s chuckling follows you into the room and you know this is another Sunday night in hell.

* * *

“He’s a nice fellow. Very polite and charming. And you can just see how he dotes on your sister.” You’re trapped doing the dishes, up to your elbows in soap hot water. So you can’t escape from her now as she leans against the counter with a drink in one hand and a smile on her lips.

You wince. Doting was one word for it. “You mean he followed her around like a puppy. She just had to make the slightest noise that she was thirsty and he would go out and dig a well just to get her fresh water from an aquifer. Not to mention he would find sand, heat it up to turn it into glass and blow her a fucking champagne flute just to drink it out of. She’s got him eating out of the palm of  her hand and whinnying about it like a damn noble steed.”

Mom sighs and pats your head like you were still five. “Oh honey, that’s how men are when it comes to beautiful women.”

You snort.

“You think I’m kidding? What was the last time you said no to a pretty face? Boy or girl, sweetheart, it doesn’t matter. If you like them you’re going to say yes.”

You roll your eyes. “Mom, it doesn’t work like that. I don’t say yes just because they’re pretty. I get something for it.”

“And you think that Equius fellow doesn’t get anything for his devotion towards Rose? Oh honey,” she laughs as you shudder.

You swipe your hand through the sink’s water. When you find no more dishes to wash, you pull the plug. “I can say no if I don’t get anything out of it. I do say no. There isn’t any point to being nice to anyone just for the sake of being nice and you said it yourself he doesn’t do it just because he likes her. He treats her nice and she puts out. That’s exactly what I do.”

“No dear,” she gives you her motherly little sigh, “what you do is do something nice for every boy or girl you come across and if they don’t put out, you’re an asshole to them so they leave you alone. Rose and Equius don’t have anyone but each other. Who do you have, Dave? Do you have someone who will do things like that for you that you can do those things for?” She puts her hand on your shoulder, looking at you in that hopeful way. “Is there anyone like that for you?”

You think of Feferi and Aradia, but they were once every couple of weeks for you. You think of Sollux and his twin, Mituna, but that, as often as it happened, was as serious as the girls. You did have that thing with Terezi, but she was more off with you and on with Karkat these days. Gamzee was the last person you would do anything nice for, the last one you _wanted_ to do anything nice for. Porrim was pretty damn close to perfect, except for the fact she seemed as casual with herself as you were with her.

Anyone else was nothing to you, a body without really a face or a name…

Without a name.

Grocery guy.

While you’re thinking your mom laughs brightly and pats your cheek. “There you go, that’s the one.”

“What?” You blink, pulling your head back.

“Whoever you were thinking about there. They made you smile, Dave. That’s the one that mama thinks you should go after! Aren’t you tired of sleeping around?”

You brush off her hands and step back. You fold your arms across your chest. “So what, I should be nice to him in exchange for nothing?”

“Yes.”

“Ridiculous.”

She heaves a sigh. You can hear the French accent to it. But she still says, “Le sigh.” She walks away from you and starts mixing herself another drink. “I worry about you, Dave. I really do.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. No one can make you feel like a piece of shit like your family can. You shove your hands into your pockets to keep from going over and standing close to her, putting your head on her shoulder and your arms around her in a pathetic, childish attempt to make her happy again. You hate making your mother disappointed in you. It’s almost as bad as when you get that disapproving frown from your elder brother.

“I know Mom. I know.”

She looks at you with those sad eyes of hers. You look away. “Dave-,”

“I get it. Okay? I get it.” You have got to get the fuck out of this place. How can she stand questioning you like this at every visit? Ridiculous. Why did she put herself through it, why did she put you through it? Maybe you should join the military like Bro did. You would do almost anything to get out of these dinners. “I’m going to go.”

“Dave, wait,” She turns and calls after you, but you’re out of the kitchen faster than she can reach for you. Rose is in the sitting room, curled up on the couch beside her boy. They’re talking softly about something, fuck if you know, but when you come rushing in they go quiet. Rose frowns at you in almost exactly the same disappointing expression that Mom just gave you.

You don’t even give her a moment to say a damn thing to you. You’re out the front door and headed to your truck before they raise a hand to stop you. You sit behind the steering wheel of your vehicle for a few minutes. At first you think one of them might come out to keep talking with you, but after five minutes of silence you know they won’t be.

You pull out your phone. You need somewhere to go tonight.  Your empty apartment is not where you want to be right now. After a few texts sent out, Porrim is the one to respond to you. You sigh in utter relief as you drive away.


	2. Friends With and Without Benefits

Porrim’s place is warm, always warm. You slink up those steps and knock on the door. “It’s open,” calls from inside. You slip into the house. Incense fills the front room but the hazy smoke comes from the pot. The culprit of that is sprawled out on the couch, her tan legs dangling off the edge and her head and shoulders propped up on plush, jade green pillow. She gives you a casual wave and a wink. Her skirt is hiked up high on her hips, and you can see her lacy panties underneath.

Your hostess and friend sits in her usual place, a circular chair piled high with pillows and blankets. Her dress is three shades too fancy to be sitting around in casually, but that hasn’t ever stopped her before and isn’t likely to stop her now. Her long black hair is like her long black dress; it parts to show skin, or in this case her face, just like her dress splits up the side to her hip. And then her hair falls down around her shoulders, curling around shoulders and on her chest. She pushes herself up on an elbow and smiles, “David, welcome home.”

You take in a deep breath of the smoky air and stride across the room. Porrim laughs her soft laugh when you shuck off your shoes and climb onto the pillows beside her. You don’t care that she laughs, because she still lets you curl yourself around her side and hide your face in her neck. Her only condition is that you take off your glasses so they don’t press into her skin. 

She runs her fingers through your hair, threading them down your neck and to your shoulders. She waits in silence for a while, listening to Damara’s occasional comments on the universe, before she questions you.

Slowly, word by painful word, she makes you repeat your conversations at home. She drags out the arguments from you, the pain, the annoyance and the anger. She purrs in your ear and drains you entirely of your words. And when you’re finished, she has one hand down your pants and you’re pinned to the cushions. You don’t even fight it. You can’t fight it. You don’t want to.

She gives you advice even while she works you into dizzying heights of pleasure. Advice on how to twist the conversation in a different direction, if you’re so inclined, as her wrist twists her hand around you. Lies to say, tactics to use, this and that and everything that can get your worried family off your back. You try to listen, because it helps hold back your orgasm, but she’s done this too many times. What should desensitize you instead is your drug and you find yourself groaning as you climax just from her hand and words in your ear.

What can you say? You’re a sucker for a voice like Porrim’s.

In the afterglow, or whatever the hell it would be in a place like this, you stretch out your arm. Because this is the nice thing that you do for Porrim. She sooths your worries and has sex with you in the way you need it most and in return she gets a pint or two of blood. Even trade, all things considered.

Your euphoria makes the puncture of the needle feel like nothing. And by now the drugs in the air have started to give you a little buzz. You smile at her as she rubs your arm. The first time she did this you were so wired that you almost passed out, but after a couple of months it’s hardly an issue now.

The blood draw leaves you lightheaded in a way that the sex doesn’t. She cleans up your arm and wraps it, just like a nurse would. Then she leaves to put the blood in her fridge, or wherever the hell she stores it.

While she’s gone, you watch the smoke curling around the ceiling. Somewhere along the lines your eyes begin to droop and you fall into peaceful, hazy, lightheaded sleep.

* * *

When Tuesday finally makes its round into your life, you’ve completed two days of work and you’re heading home a little early to get home by four. You hop into the shower, gussy up in front of the mirror and spend about twenty minutes making yourself look as nonchalant as you can.

He shows up five minutes to four, knocking on your door then pausing for half a second before knocking again. You give yourself one more quick once over in that hallway mirror before you go and open the door for him. You’ve got the greeting on your tongue and that is where it dies.

You had a pretty good idea of what to expect. Any classy looking hipster who coordinated his colors to go out shopping wasn’t going to show up to _your_ door in anything but his best and yet he shows up like _this._ His hair still has that purple stripe in it, and he’s still wearing those black rimmed glasses, but his shirt is a regular T-shirt under a jacket that has no design quality to it other than the fact that it has some golden buttons on it and pockets. His scarf is small, out of the way really, and loops around his neck like an afterthought.

His pants aren’t the skinny jeans you’re expecting or the dressy pants you were hoping for. They look like a regular pair of working jeans, the heavy duty kind. And you swear those are honest-to-God hiking boots on his feet. You feel simultaneously overdressed and underdressed and like he didn’t give you the right fucking memo about the dress code.

He curls his lip at you, puts his hands in his pockets and looks you up and down. His gaze drags down your body and then pops back up and he gives you this heavy sigh, “Are you really goin’ to go out spelunkin’ with me dressed like that?”

For the strangest damn reason you actually feel embarrassed. You want to slink back behind your door and tell him forget about it, you weren’t feeling much like sex anyway, which was a huge damn lie. But he looks good in his little levi’s and you want to know where the hell this drive is out to anyway, so you bite your tongue to keep back your snappy retort and say, “Let me go change quickly.”

If he wants that rugged outdoor theme, then you had to find _something_ to oblige him. So you let him in and go back to your room to change. You find some jeans and someone’s forgotten plaid button down shirt that you’ve washed and stuck in your closet. You trade out your nicer shoes for some sneakers, because your hiking boots have gone missing. You vaguely remember Aradia wearing them, but she had also been wearing next to nothing and waving a whip around so it’s not a very clear visual of the boots.

Your buddy clicks his tongue at you in mild approval when you come back out into the hallway. He’s standing by your mirror, which is surrounded by swords on the wall. You wait for some sort of comment about them, but it never comes. He just inclines his head to the door and says, “Shall we go?”

“Yes.” You reply, “Let’s.”

The car surprises you as well. You expect a Prius or a shitty purple Scion, but instead you get a fucking Ford truck. It’s still purple, that kind of dark purple with a faint glitter to it like the paint has fool’s gold in it. The inside is clean as fuck. You did get a glimpse of a cooler in the back, so you figure that’s where dinner is coming from.

You’re surprised when he opens the door for you, and you would never admit the way that surprise stirs inside of you, the way it makes your cheeks heat up just a little. You mutter something about not being a lady and he replies with a curt, “Doesn’t matter what your gender is, I can still be fuckin’ chivalrous.”

That just makes it hard for you to breathe, as you fumble on your seatbelt and wait for him to walk back over to his side. You have no fucking _clue_ why you’re reacting like that. Maybe it’s a sign that you should walk away from this particular date. But by the time that you’re actually considering it, he’s in the driver’s seat and he’s turning over the engine with a key.

He turns on the radio and you hear the crackle of the speakers come into life. Distantly is the voice of some talk show host. You couldn’t tell one from another, though, because they all make you wince. He must see your reaction, because he then says, “You can pick whatever you want to listen to.”

“Do you have any CDs?” You look unobtrusively around the cab.

He shakes his head, eyes staying on the road. “No. Just the radio.”

“Huh.” You fiddle with the dial until you find the least grating music on. The bass of the music thrums through the car, making the rearview mirror shake. You lean back and let the music work its magic. Club music always energized you, and the company you kept. After a while, you glance over to look at the guy.

He sits like there’s a stick up his ass, straight spine, shoulders squared. He’s got some slight frown action going on, but you’re readily discovering that’s probably just how his face looks. You’d think for sure he hated the music, but his finger was tapping out the tempo on his steering wheel.

Making small talk was never your forte. You made it that way through years of sculpting that cool façade of mysteriousness. Yet here you were with a nervous bounce of your leg and your tongue wanted to wag and chatter away anything. It took you a while to realize that you really just wanted to fill the silence.

It seemed he wasn’t too good with small talk either.

So instead you turn up the radio and let the music fill the air. You get impatient with commercials, so whenever one blips up, you find yourself flipping through the stations until you find the next somewhat decent song playing. This fills up your time somewhat and you think you get a fond look from him when you curse about the same damn car commercial for the fourth time in a row.

Before you know it, the two of you are cruising down the highway, away from your downtown life, and towards the middle of nowhere. You settle on a jazz station for a while as you sit and watch the buildings become sparse and the trees taller.

He pulls off the highway in some Podunk little town called Kearny or some shit, as you guess from the sign, and almost immediately afterwards goes from a main street to a back road. There’s one of those brown signs that denotes a national park or something like that but you miss the name of it. He’s tearing down that back road like the speed limit is twice as high as the sign says and he doesn’t give a fuck about cops. Eventually, though, he slows down and the two of you creep down a dirt road.

You’re confused. You won’t admit it aloud, but you are. What part of spelunking meant that you two had to drive out to the middle of nowhere? You figured you’d have a long drive to his house, or maybe a sleazy hotel or something, not to some backwater highschool makeout spot. But here he was, parking the truck on some gravelly area where the weeds had begun to overtake the edges and displace the rocks. Did he really want to fuck a stranger way the hell out here? And then take you home? It was dedication to the cause, certainly, but that was going to be a hell of an awkward drive back.

He gets out while you’re looking around uncertainly and before you know it, he’s at your door, holding it open. That burning comes back to your cheeks as you stare at him. He sighs and says, “Have I got to unbuckle you or are you fully capable a that on your own.”

What an asshole. “I think I might need some help, good sir knight.”

To your fucking surprise he doesn’t retort with anything. He just steps up into the door way, one hand holding him up and the other reaching across you to click the buckle loose. He’s in your face as he does this, and while he’s there he whispers, “My apologies, your highness. I’d forgotten how helpless you can be.”

You simultaneously want to punch him in the mouth for implying your weakness and to play on it to make him regret saying it. Since you don’t think punching is his thing, really, and you still do want to get laid by this guy, you decide on the latter. “You are forgiven. Now help me down out of this blasted contraption.”

That manages to get a quick quirk of a smile from him, when nothing else has, and he steps down again to offer you his hand. You take it, not really thinking about how it’s the first touch you two have had. Usually for you that first touch is a grope or a cop-a-feel that leads into either more teasing touches or simply making out. This is the first time in a while that you just took someone’s hand.

Your insides twisted themselves into knots, and you cursed mentally. You really didn’t need to be coming down with something in the middle of a date. The last thing you needed was to really depend on this guy for your safety while you were sick as a dog.

He closes his truck up and locks it with a click of a button. Then he climbs into the back, while saying, “I’ll just put the food in a pack and we’ll be ready to go inside.”

Inside? Inside what? You don’t ask. Instead you look around and you don’t see anything but trees and the road. You’re in a little forested area in the middle of nowhere. What inside was he fucking talking about? Unless he had a cabin. That got you excited. Fucking in a cabin? That would be new. You didn’t know there were cabins this close to the city, frankly, you didn’t know there was a damn forest this close to the city.

Bag filled, he slings it up and over his shoulder and then jumps down. He hands you a flashlight and says, “I saw you didn’t bring your own.”

“What?” You take it, though, because this date is going places you really weren’t expecting at all.

He rolls his eyes at you like you’re stupid, and even though you feel kind of stupid, you frown at him. “Come on. We’re going spelunkin’.”

“Where? Out here? In the woods?”

“No,” the sarcasm drips from his voice like wet paint off a brush, “Downtown is just behind those trees. We’re explorin’ the abandoned subway system.” He snorts, “Just how fuckin’ moronic are you? We’re goin’ spelunkin’ in a fuckin’ cave. That’s where you spelunk. That is what spelunk fuckin’ _means_.” At your silence, he narrows his eyes, “What the fuck were you _expectin’_ in spelunkin’ with me?”

“Fucking, mostly.” You reply honestly, “Haven’t you ever heard of spelunking in the bedroom? You know, the horizontal tango, the final frontier, going where maybe a few people have gone before for untold pleasures?”

His face turns an interesting shade of pink, spreading across his cheeks and turning red at the tops of his ears. He huffs and turns away from you, “Well when I say spelunkin’ I mean honest to fuckin’ God spelunkin’ in a fuckin’ cave. So come on.”

He starts walking and you start following. “And what if I don’t want to go spelunking in a cave?”

“You can sit in the back a the truck for a few hours while I explore or you can pick a direction on the road an hoof it back,” he doesn’t even look back at you while he walks around the small hill. “I came out here to spelunk, and if you want to chicken out on me an’ bail then go right the fuck ahead. I don’t need some shithead wannabe explorer badass following me around and stumblin’ over his own damn feet.”

On the other side of the hill there’s a cave opening. An honest to god cave opening. And he just keeps walking into it. “Hey, wait up man!”

He waits in the mouth of the cave and turns to look back at you. He’s got the long flashlight in one hand and his hand on the strap of his back. He gives you this weird smile and asks, “So when are you goin’ to ask for my name? Or were you plannin’ to fuck me without even knowin’ who the hell I am.”

You stop dead in your tracks. Shit. Hadn’t you asked his name at the, where the fuck did you meet him again? It wasn’t the club, it was recent and-

“Or were you plannin’ to call me grocery guy or some fuckin’ shit like that for the whole damn time.”

That’s right. The grocery store. “Well you don’t know my name. Weren’t you going to ask?”

“You gave me your first name, Dave. An’ not only that I know people who know you. Half a them said I shouldn’t even be goin’ on this date with you in the first place. The other half laughed in my face.” He starts turning back around to face the cave, “I know who you are Dave Strider. I don’t know why I was surprised that you thought we were goin’ to fuck, though.”

You hurry to follow him into the cave. “Is that some sort of pseudo-subtle attempt at calling me a whore?”

“You’re not a whore,” his voice is already beginning to echo inside of the cave. You flick on your flashlight, but your shades are doing a marvelous job at fucking with your vision. You pop them up to the top of your head, readily available to drop down if he were to look back at you. He isn’t though, he just walks calming through the front of the cave with his flashlight guiding him, “You’re more of a slut.”

“Wow. Rude.”

“It’s the truth.” He flashes that light back for you. Your glasses make a soft _dink!_ noise when they hit your nose to protect your eyes. The beam of light doesn’t go up any higher than your feet, though. “You thought I was goin’ to sleep with you on the first date, with no preamble or anythin’. You’re a slut.”

“It’s locks and keys, buddy, I’m a key that can open many locks. That takes skill.” The light flashes away from you and you hear his footsteps. It’s kind of frightening how dark this cave has gotten. You have to be careful as you pick your way across the stones. You don’t see any installed ropes or rails or anything. “Isn’t this one of those protected caves or something? Where’s the tourist protection stuff?”

“It’s protected but not for visitors. We’re technically trespassin’.” He ducks under a low hanging rock that you almost run into. You follow him into another cavern. Now the only light is from your flashlights, instead of some threading in from the entrance. “And a key that works on more than one lock is called a lockpick or a hammer. From what I heard, you aren’t weildin’ any hammer in your pants, Dave.”

“Who did you hear that from?”

He just laughs at you.

You hurry up to him and grab him by the shoulder. Or at least that’s your intention. Instead you grab a rock and you just hear his laughter bouncing off the walls. “I’m serious. Who did you hear that from?”

“A couple of people. Don’t worry about it, it’s hardly a complaint or a criticism. Apparently lockpicks are preferred to hammers.” He chuckles softly. Shivers run down your spine in a way that the echoing laughter didn’t cause.

“Just how many people do you know that I’ve fucked?”

“More than you would think, Dave.” His light wobbles to your right. “Come this way. You go too far left an’ you’ll be fallin’ down a pit.”

“Shit,” you hiss out the curse and walk over towards where he is. “You walk too damn fast for exploring. Where are you?”

You nearly jump out of your skin when his hand closes around yours. “Take off your stupid shades an’ you might see better, Dave. Don’t worry, I won’t be able to see your precious fuckin’ eyes anyway.”

Tentatively you listen to him, pulling them off and folding them up. You hang them from the front of your shirt. When you’re done with that, his hand finds yours again. His skin is cool, but in contrast to the cave, it’s warm. It’s not the driest hand you’ve ever held, but a little sweat in a palm is preferable to scrambling in the dark. You hold on tightly.

“I’m not really explorin’,” he says softly, “I’ve been here about fifteen or twenty times, you know. Whenever the mood hits me, I’ll come out here an’ take a look around. It’s like the ocean without havin’ to leave the state.”

“Then are we going somewhere specific?”

“Yeah,” you can hear the grin in his voice, “We are. So keep quiet for a while an’ enjoy the silence.”

You grumble for a while, but eventually obey. The silence is oppressive. It weighs down on you in the darkness and makes every little sound so much louder. Your footsteps, the sound of his breathing, even the faint clink of his zipper when the backpack bounces too much bounces around you in the darkness. You keep your eyes down and your flashlight down as well so you don’t trip and fall.

On occasion, Eridan will murmur something like “just around this corner here,” or “watch your footin’” or your favorite, “I fuckin’ told you to duck, you idiot.” He guides you through the cave, taking you deeper and deeper inside. It’s cold and damp and you’re trying not to shiver when he finally stops. You almost bump into him.

“This is it.” He sweeps his flashlight across the ceiling. “C’mere.” He tugs your hand over to the side and then gives you the other flashlight. “Now don’t move, all right?”

You don’t move, instead you look around. The ceiling isn’t too much higher than your own head, and it’s littered with glittering crystalline rocks. At one end of the cavern there’s a pool of water, at the other end is an opening too small for either of you to walk through. The guy pulls out a blanket and spreads it out over the ground. He gets out the food as well, which you realize is some fine shit after all.

You kneel down on the blankets when you think it’s safe to do so. He takes back a flashlight, roots around in his bag a little more and then finds a box of matches. He grabs another back you don’t see and walks around the cavern. You follow him with your light, curious. He places candles in little crevices and lights them.

Soon the whole cavern is lit up with the soft glow of the candle light. You don’t even need your flashlight anymore. He turns off his and puts it away. You can see him smiling in the low light. Your guts are doing that twisting around inside of you thing again and this time your tongue is tied as well.

You know it was a joke in the car when he called you highness, but it sure as hell feels like he’s treating you like royalty. He pulls out a bottle from the bag and says, “It’s not wine, just sparklin’ cider. It’s not smart to drink out in caves like this. Plus we have the drive back home.”

“Good,” you say, “I don’t want you taking advantage of my drunk self anyway.” You mean it like a joke, but the look he gives you makes you feel ashamed for smirking as you said those words.  You’re starting to really get pissed off at this guy. What gave him the fucking privilege to make you fucking feel like this with just a look? “Pour me some.”

He does have plastic champagne flutes, though, and the rest of the assorted food is about as fine as you’ve seen. Soft cheeses and marbled sausages on different crackers are spread out on a plate or two. There’s also a bowl of grapes. After pouring you some cider, he goes after the grapes, popping a few of those into his mouth. All you have to do is open your mouth and he’s feeding you the little bites of fruit. Ah. So he _does_ like you after all. That was good to know.

“So, if it wasn’t to sleep with me, why _did_ you ask me out?”

He chews his mouthful of cracker and cheese thoughtfully before he answers you. “To prove a point.”

“And what point is that?”

He smirks at you, “You can go out with Dave Strider and not fuck him.”

You do not like the sound of that. You don’t like the sound of that at all. What the hell was he up to? Did he even like guys? “Are you even gay at all?”

“No.” He replies, “I don’t give a fuck about your gender.” He holds out a grape to you and feeds you it as he talks, “There are people who I know who know you. They know what kind a guy you are an’ what kind a shit you pull to get where you want to get. These are the same assholes who think that there would be no way in hell that you would want to go on a date with me, cause of the shit they’ve told you about me.”

“And what shit is that?” You drink cider to wash down a mouthful of cheese and cracker that he’s fed you.

His grin is all teeth and no joy as he leans in and says, “I’m Eridan Ampora.”

You choke on your drink, spluttering and pulling back. You cough into your hand, all the while feeling his eyes watching you in the side of your head. You squeeze out a tear because of the pain. When you get your breath back, he’s looking out over the pool of water in the cave and he says, “Makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

“You’re _that_ asshole? I mean I’ve heard some shitty stories about you but you look about four times nicer than they say you look.” You look at him more curiously now. He actually was remarkably attractive, but whether that was because of the dim lighting or because he was just your type of guy, you weren’t exactly certain. “Though I have to say, you kind of do have the manner of a troll, as I’ve heard it put.”

He gives you a thin smile. He slices himself some meat and pops the entire slice into his mouth. You notice the way the candlelight glints off the knife blade as he gestures while he talks, “If you notice, those people aren’t my friends. I know them an’ they know you an’ we talk, but we aren’t friends. Acquaintances would be stretchin’ the bonds of our relationships to its fullest.”

“So what, they’re biased against you?”

“In a manner of speakin’. In another, I’ve been more of an ass to them than others. Sausage?” He holds out a piece of meat on the point of the knife.

You look to him. His expression is closed, full of reserved judgment. You lean forward and bite the meat off the end of the knife. You’re careful to keep your teeth from touching the metal, though. He gives you a smirk in reward. You swallow down the sausage and lean in for a kiss. He lets you get close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin before you’re stopped by his hand over your mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers, “But no. I don’t know you or like you near well enough for a kiss, Dave.”

“You like me well enough to use my first name,” you reply, “And to take me to your private cave sanctum.”

“You’re the one who gave me your first name.” He leans back, slicing off a thin wedge of cheese, “And this is only one cave I go to. There are plenty more in the area and this one is the least impressive. It’s just the easiest one to get inside of.” He sips his cider and adds, “Like your pants.”

“You _asshole_.” But you laugh it off. If you didn’t you’d be a lot more insulted. He shakes his head and lifts his glass.

“It’s kinda my specialty.”

“Just to be perfectly clear,” You fish out a handful of grapes and chomp through them. “Are we going to have sex tonight?”

“Nope.” He doesn’t even hesitate long enough to pretend to think about it. “Not a chance.”

“Any sloppy make outs?”

“No making out, sloppy or otherwise.”

“Jesus. So you really only went out with me so you could go to your friends and tell them that you went on a date with me and we didn’t fuck? That’s it?”

“You’re also handsome. Plus I’ve got a friend who says you have something of an artistic character rooted deep down inside a you, under all the tight pants and grabassery you’ve got goin’ on right now.” He flicks his knife around, another chunk of sausage on the point. He bites it off the end.

“A friend huh. Not one of those acquaintances?” You think of how Rose would admonish you when you play with your knives too much. Eridan doesn’t even seem to think about it. He talks with his hands, still holding the knife the whole time. It moves while he talks, towards you and towards himself, like he barely even remembers that he’s holding it. You consider warning him about it, like Rose does for you, but he seems perfectly calm so you don’t bother.

“Yes. A friend. You knew them in high school. Or at least they knew you. So I figure there’s something underneath your whoring.”

“Hey, that’s too fucking far.” You sit up straight, “I get slutty and grabass but whoring? No fucking way.”

“It’s true isn’t it.” He looks at you without a smile or a frown. “You bounce from bed to bed all the damn time. Unless every fuckin’ person I talk to is a damn liar.”

“I didn’t come on this date to get questioned and judged by someone who actually believes killing people is an answer to our problems.” You push yourself up onto your feet. “So I sleep around. So what. It’s my damn life, Eridan, and you don’t have any damn right to stick your nose up at me like you’re fucking better than me.”

“For your information,” he says from where he sits on the blanket, “I was using it as a description a you, not a condemnation. So you sleep around. I don’t fucking care. Do you care that I don’t sleep around? I haven’t fucked anyone in years. Do you think I’m a prude? Fuck if I know. I sure as hell don’t care what you think.” He drinks from his cider, calm as can be. “I just wanted to see if there _was_ any fuckin’ truth to there bein’ an interestin’ man under those loose pants.”

“What?” That doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t make any sense. “The fuck are you even saying?”

“I’ll put it simply. I don’t date to fuck.” He refills your glass, even though you’re standing and ready to get out of here. “I date to make friends. I date to meet people and get to know them. No one fucks me. No one really wants that kind of hassle. So I take people out to make friends. I’m not very good at just making friends in any other way.”

“You…take people on dates… to become friends with them?” You could laugh. You do laugh. “That is some seriously fucked up shit.” You sit down beside him and you take your glass back from him. “Friendship dates with no fucking. If they’re as cool as candle lit dinners in a fucking cave, I'm in.” You lift your glass, “So a toast?”

“To what?” But he lifts his glass and he’s smiling.

“Friends without benefits.”

“To friends without benefits.” He shakes his head, laughing softly.

The clink of plastic champagne flutes echoes throughout the cavern like a bell. You chuckle and he looks around with a soft, pleased gasp. You try not to focus on the way his gasp echoes through the hall like the clink of the cups. You really do try to not remember that. It doesn’t fucking work at all. Friends without benefits with a guy who fed you grapes? Yeah. Not going to happen.

You’ll see how long he'll last with that little venture.


	3. Best Man's Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave shouldn't give toasts while drunk. He probably simply shouldn't talk at all while drunk.
> 
> Getting drunk just doesn't seem to end up well for him at all now does it?

“Sollux, buddy, you there?” You knock on the door while holding a couple of pizzas balanced precariously on your hand. “C’mon, answer the door. I got pizza!”

The door opens as wide as the chain lock and you see one green eye peering out at you. “Pitha? What kind.”

“Two half and half peppers and sausage with mushroom. And I’ve got a two liter of mountain dew here too.” You turn slightly to show the bottle you’ve got under your arm. “So let me in, huh?”

He looks at your goods and then back up to you and says, “You heard I got the new Math Effect, didn’t you.” He heaves a sigh. “Fine. Get your thorry ath in here. I’m thtarving.” Sollux closes the door and you hear the slide of his lock. He pulls open the door to his apartment.

It’s incredibly warm inside. You step inside and immediately a sweat begins to trickle down your spine. It’s nothing new, though. The way the Captor’s have their apartment set up is computer friendly, at least it is in the back. The front is all heat, and the back is a very large fridge.

There’s that distant hum that comes from the piping along the far wall where the heat of the electronics is pumped to the front room. Sollux is wearing long sleeves, which is sign enough that he’s been in the back. “C’mon give me the food.”

You pass over the pizza. “Your brother here?”

 “Why? Tho you can bend him over the kitchen table again? Yeah, of courthe he’th here. He’th in the back,” he gestures towards the door he’s headed towards. You follow him through the door and shiver with the sudden temperature drop. “Mituna! Dave’th here! He brought pizza.”

“Fuck yeah!” A head pops up over the back of the couch. “Pizza!” You could hear shots being fired on the TV screen, but Mituna’s hands came up over the back of the couch after his head. He hadn’t paused his game, again, wholly forgetting about it probably, “Pizza me. Pizza, pizza, pizza, pizza, pizza!” Sollux hits him on the head with a pizza box and Mituna grabs it gleefully. He disappears behind the couch again and you can hear his gnawing on the cardboard before he actually opens the box.

Sollux moves around the couch and drops down onto his enormous bean bag chair. “You’ll have to wait for hith turn to be over before you can play, DV. He won it fair and thquare.” He flipped open the pizza box on his lap, “and he’th got about an hour left of it.”

You decide to join Sollux on his squishy chair, sinking into the body absorbing cushion with a grateful sigh. “It doesn’t matter man. I just needed a place to unwind and eat pizza while I forget what a shitty day I had at work.”

Mituna giggles from where he sits on the couch, munching away on the pizza. There’s a bite sized hole in the side of his box, but that was just his way of claiming items. “Shitty day? Did you fuck your boss again?” He laughs again, but this time it’s pointed to Sollux. “Boss, heheh.”

Sollux scowls at his twin brother, “Thut the fuck up, MT.”

“Sorry,” Mituna’s smile vanishes for a few seconds, but then he’s giggling to himself and eating his pizza again.

You groan, “No, but that would have just made everything so much fucking worse if I had. She was chewing out my ass for messing up an order last Tuesday. Last Tuesday! That wasn’t even fucking me to begin with, but does she give a fuck about who really fucks up? No. She blames me for everything because it means she gets to take me into her damn tiny office and yell at me. She’s probably PMSing the bitch.”

“Admit it, you fuck up with thit around the thop jutht to fuck with her. We know that you do, you admitted it already.” Sollux talks through his mouthful of food. “Path the dew.”

“Yeah but Tuesday I had a date, so there’s no way I would have fucked up on Monday or Tuesday to jeopardize that. I fucking had to leave early to get to the date on time anyway.” You unscrew the mountain dew and look around for a cup. You find one that looks clean and pour him some. Sollux grunts in thanks. “Those pictures were not my fault. It was probably fucking Paul. It’s always fucking Paul.”

“Fucking Paul,” Mituna laughs, “Were you doing that too?”

“Thut up, MT.” Sollux says again, earning another apologetic sorry from his twin. “I fucking thwear,” he mutters to himself before shaking his head. “Anyway, you went on a real date? Like, out to dinner and the movieth or what? Who the fuck athked you out on a date when they jutht have to thow up at your plathe in nothing but an overcoat over underwear to get you to fuck them? I mean, why go through all that effort for thomething you don’t need to?”

“I know, right? I’m not that difficult to get into bed. This is very obvious, I mean everyone fucking knows this. But this guy, get this Sollux, he asks me out not to fuck me, but to be friends.”  You laugh, “He’s such a loser that he can’t have friends unless he takes them out on dates!” You laugh some more. Mituna laughs with you. However, Sollux just sits there, pensive.

After you finish laughing, and even after Mituna finishes laughing, Sollux waits a while to say anything. He’s frowning, furrowed brow and turned down lips and everything, “Let me gueth. Purple thtripe of hair. Took you to thome weird underground location to prove how original he ith, how cool he ith? Too tight pantth and the motht hubrith athhole you’ve ever met?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Do I know him. Of courthe I fucking know him. How did you not know that I know him? He uthed to date thith girl I know. Before they got together, the and I tried it for a while, but I jutht couldn’t keep up. The wathn’t my thpeed at all. Now the’th dating thith other girl I uthed to date.” He end with a grumble, “I never thould have let them meet each other…”

You snicker at him, “That’s priceless. No wonder you hole yourself up here with your video games.”

“Back on fucking topic,” He shoves at you with his shoulder. “Thith athole. Ith hith name Eridan?”

“Nail on the head there buddy. So you do know him?”

“He and I got into a fucking duel, an actual fucking duel over FF in highthchool.” He picks at the cheese on a slice of pizza, frowning at it like it’s the cause for all his problems. “Two duelth actually. The firtht time I beat him, but then about a month later he did it again and he whipped my ath good. FF fell magically back in love with him and they were like that for yearth. Don’t remember how it ended. Not that I give a fuck. Once the wath off my radar, ED went off it too. Liked it better that way.”

“Yeah I can see him dueling. He’s that kind of guy.” You can very clearly see him dueling in your head. Wearing those tight pants of the 1800s and waving a pointy little saber around. You think you could teach him a few things about holding a sword, and with your victory, well, you think you could think of a few more things to teach him. In a different setting, of course. Something more like a bedroom. Definitely a bedroom. You blink out of your daydream with Sollux’s fingers snapping in your face.

“Tho, you went on a date with him. How wath the thex? You going to fuck him again or wath thith more of a dare.”

You snort. “Sex? With him? Please. He wouldn’t even let me kiss him.” When Sollux looks at you with frank disbelief, you sit up and declare, “It’s true! He wouldn’t even let me kiss him goodnight at the door! And as for underground, yeah he took me to a fucking cave! We went into a fucking cave and it was really weirdly romantic and he still wouldn’t let me kiss him, there or after or at the door or anything. He stopped me each fucking time. ‘No fuckin’ kisses, Dave,’” you start doing a pretty good mockery of Eridan’s voice, “’We’re datin’ as friends, nothin’ more.’ And when I told him I kissed all my friends he said that he wasn’t _comfortable_ with that and was I really willing to make him uncomfortable to satisfy the lusts of my body?”

Sollux laughs at you this time, “The luthtth of your body? Fuck did he really thay that?”

You lay back with a groan. “Yes. Yes he fucking did. And you know what the worst part is?”

“No. What wath the wortht part of it,” you can hear the mockery in Sollux’s voice but right now you don’t give a fuck. He can insult you all you like, because you felt like shit anyway.

“After he said no to me so many fucking times, I just wanted him more. I dreamt about it that night, fucking fapped to it in the morning. I can’t get his ass out of my head.”

You would keep going, but Sollux is laughing. He’s closed his pizza box and his cup of mountain dew is sloshing in his hand as he rolls back and forth in place, laughing. After a while he’s silently shaking, gasping periodically for air. He sits up, fighting for his breath, and wiping his eyes with his free hand. Mituna’s watching from the couch, chewing on a piece of pizza hanging from his mouth. His hands are working at the controller and he’s still playing the game on the screen, even as his fingers work away. Fucking Captors and their fucking video game skills.

“You’re an utter asshole,” You say to Sollux.

“You want to fuck Eridan ‘I’m god’th fucking gift to the world’ Ampora! How can I not laugh at that!”

“He has a nice ass!”

“Tho does Therket and you don’t thee me fantathithing about her in my bed going ‘Oh Mr. Captor Oh~’.” Sollux snorts, “That’th not even the part I’m really fucking laughing about. Hell no. I’m laughing because Ampora decideth to take out on a date the motht notoriouth thlut that I have ever heard of or known and why doeth he do it? Not to fuck. Not even to make out. He taketh you out on a date _to be your fucking friend_. Now if that ithn’t hil-fucking-lariouth then I am a thwarm of angry killer beeth.”

In the next moment, Mituna throws a pillow at Sollux, hitting him in the face and arm. His mountain dew spills over him and Sollux curses loudly. He hits the pillow to the ground and snarls, “Mituna!”

“You made another bee reference! I get another hour!” he giggles gleefully, wiggling in place on the couch. “This is the best day ever!”

Sollux grumbles and gets to his feet. “Come with me tho I can continue to laugh at your thupidity while I change.” He kicks your foot when it looks like you won’t follow. You climb to your feet with an aggrieved sigh and follow him. “Fine, fine.”

You follow him out of the main room and past the ‘Command Center’ to the bathroom. Like always, you poke your head into the formerly mentioned room for a quick gander. This is Sollux’s personal haven. A room with so many computers, wires and bits of things that there was almost no wall to speak of anymore. Wood floor for easier mobility on his wheeled chair and a mini-fridge for replenishing his energy were just two of the many modifications he had made the room. It was a place for Sollux and his computers. The only reason it was unlocked was because Sollux was home himself.

He goes to the bathroom and strips down, muttering as he wipes mountain dew from his stomach. You take a seat on the closed lid of the toilet and watch him. He was skinny as a newborn horse, all knees, elbows, joints and bones, but sometimes you really liked that. Well, to be honest, you liked pretty much everything. You didn’t have a type, so to speak. Basically whatever got Dave Jr. up was what got you interested. And right now Sollux’s knobby spine and pointy shoulder blades were doing wonders for your libido.

That, and the fact that you hadn’t had a good fuck since Saturday night. Porrim hardly counted, because she’d just given you a handjob. Besides, you went there for other reasons, really.

Sollux looks at you in the mirror. “Are you enjoying the view, or thould I go get thome clotheth to put a little more thubstance on these boneth?”

“If you put them on I’m just going to tear them off of you again,” You lean back, folding your arms over your chest.

“Oh,” he runs his hand through his hair. “Tho it’th going to be one of thothe nighth.” He checks his watch. “Eh, MT’th got another hour left on hith time and I haven’t seen you thince latht Friday. Where do you want to do it?”

You get up from the toilet and saunter over towards him. “I brought you pizza and soda, so don’t tell me this was unexpected.” When you reach him, you lean in and kiss him. He puts his arm around your neck and on one end you feel his elbow dig into your shoulder and on the other you feel his fingers dig into the other side. “And bedroom. Mituna’s busy and it would be rude to mess with his hour of gameplay.”

“Pleathe, the moment you texted me telling me you were coming over I knew what to expect.” He tugs on the bottom of your shirt. “Bedroom it ith.”

You smirk. You don’t do much in the way of working out, but Sollux does even less in the way of eating proper food. You get his legs up around your waist and you carry him through the bathroom and into the bedroom beyond. After that, it’s only a matter of time.

* * *

 It was the next day, about seven in the morning, when you got this one.

CA: hey do you have any books you like to read or anythin?   
CA: im at this half price book place an i got like ten more dollars a credit do you wwant somethin?

You had stared at the message for a good two minutes before you thought of anything past, who the fuck goes to a book store at seven in the morning?

TG: im not much of the reading type actually   
TG: trying to remember the last book that i picked up to read in pleasure is like trying to remember what was the first solid food i ate as a kid

A satisfactory reply. But something comes to mind. You take a moment to tuck in your work shirt into  your pants before adding.

TG: last thing i read in school was a book about some letter and some girl with a demon baby or something   
CA: thats the fuckin scarlet letter   
TG: yeah that sounds about right   
CA: so i wwill just pick somethin up for you then   
TG: uh sure fine whatever   
TG: look i have to drive to work now talk to you later   
CA: aye

You sit in your seat, looking at your phone for a moment. Something was odd about that conversation. You shrug off the feeling and head down the road. It’s not until you’re pulling into the parking lot at your work that it hits you.

There weren’t any plans made. It was your first regular, weird conversation about something someone else was interested in that you’ve had in years. You didn’t plan to meet up with him, and there wasn’t any extraneous and, honestly, pointless flirting going on. It was just a conversation. With a friend.

You find yourself smiling and aren’t exactly sure how to make the good feeling go away. Or why you’re even having it. Fucking Ampora.

* * *

Later, you get out of the shower and there’s a message waiting for you.

CA: russian invvasions nevver pan out   
CA: they alwways go in the wwinter as if it doesnt come to their minds that travvellin north in the wwinter time is about the stupidest fuckin thing that anyone could ever fuckin do   
CA: actually the best course a action with the Russians is to either leavve them the fuck alone or to alliance wwith them   
CA: but if you cant manage to play nice wwith them theres alwways the option of makin them come to you to fight   
CA: wwhich in the old times a wwar that wwould mean they would lose a hell of a lot of men to travvel yet these days theyd send jets or missiles or wwhatnot to fuck people over   
CA: and spies   
CA: don’t let them convvince you otherewwise dave cause russias too big a country to not havve spies   
CA: wwe havve spies an we are just fuckin America   
CA: evveryone has spies

You end up laying on your bed in boxers, texting him for a good hour about spies and Russians. It’s only when you get a text from the ever expectant Terezi that you finally say goodbye to Eridan and finish getting dressed.

Yet, all night long, as you booze it up with your ex-girlfriend, you keep thinking back on the conversation. By the end of the night, when she’s drunk and ready to fuck you in her car, you’re thinking about spies and Russians. Half way undressed, you ask Terezi about them.

In your drunken stupor, you forget that she’s half Russian and she kicks you out of her car on your ass, shouting at you for being a two-timing hypocrite. She throws your shirt out after you, but takes off in her car with your shoes.

It’s a long walk back, but at least you have drunken texts to Eridan to keep you company.

* * *

With a hangover the size of Texas looming in your brain, you wake up on the floor of your bedroom the next morning. Your blankets have been pulled off your bed with you, stretching down like a taut web. Your phone is going off, ringing this time, not just the sound of a received text. You only know two people who call you, and neither one of them are people you want to avoid.

So it’s a muffled greeting you give into the phone, after you scramble to grab it from where it’s charging on your bedside table. You lay on the floor, though, too tired and in too much pain to get up.

“Mom?”

“Did you even fuckin’ check your caller ID before you picked up?”

All right. You can add a third person to that list of two who will call you. “Eridan?”

“Mornin’ to you too. What the fuck is goin’ on? You called last night after I told you I went to bed an’ left me the strangest fuckin’ message.”

Shit. “What message? I don’t remember. I was, uh, drunk.”

“Yeah, no fuckin’ shit.”

There’s silence for a while.  You’re trying to remember what the hell you said. Was it about his ass? You bet it probably was about his ass. Why is he being so damn quiet? You curl up tighter in your pulled cocoon of blankets and groan. “Ugh. I feel miserable.”

“I’m not surprised. Did you really walk home barefoot?” His voice is haughty, but you think you might hear some softness to it. Or that could be the monster migraine parading around your brain.

“Yeah. Damn. My feet are probably fucking filthy.”

“You should have told me before. I could have come to pick you up.”

The very idea makes you laugh. “You? Come pick me up? Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because I’m your friend, Dave. And that is what friends do.”

You’re about to argue that it _isn’t_ what friends do, when an old memory comes whirling up from the depths of your mind. Back when you and John still talked, back when you were just starting to go clubbing and weren’t quite good at picking up girls who would take you home instead of just to the alley out back. You were drunk, sick drunk, and hardly able to stand. You managed to text John, who was at home or some shit with his fiancé, and he came around and picked you up.

Picked you up, took you home, got you in the shower and into bed. At two in the morning.

The memory chokes you up, stops up your mind, your heart, your lungs. All of a sudden you can remember John and his arm around your shoulders as he laughs with you about something. You can remember John standing in his suit on his wedding day, the last day you saw him.

You got so damn drunk at his wedding. And the toast you made as Best Man…

“I fucked up,” you barely register that you’re talking. “Oh I really fucked that up.” You can barely breathe enough to speak.

“Dave?” there’s honest concern in his voice. Yesterday you would have pegged it as the way your mother talks to you sometimes. Today it just sounds like John.

“I gotta go, Eridan. I’m sorry about the message. Just…. Just forget it okay? I just want you to forget it. I’ll talk to you later.” You hang up before he can reply and before you can say anything else that’s stupid as fuck.

You lay with your head in your arms for a while, trying not to cry. A few tears squeeze their way out of your eyes anyway, though. “Shit.” You really fucked it up with John, your last real good friend.

You spend the better part of your morning on the floor like that, drifting back to an attempt to sleep. Eventually you’ll have to get up, shower, eat something and go over to your mother’s house, but for right now a little bit of wallowing in just how much of an utter asshole of a friend you are seems to be the perfect start to your perfect fucking day.


	4. Friend Kisses

After you sent that drunken message, along with those later drunken texts, and that half-hearted, rushed apology for it all, you expected radio silence for a couple of days. That was the standard operating procedure, which was what all your friends did when you made an utter fool of yourself to them. They would avoid you for a few days, let you “cool off” and come back to your senses. Apparently, this course of action was foreign to Eridan, because he texts you Sunday night with a simple message.

CA: call me

You’re sitting at table with your mom across from you, talking to Rose about a book they’ve both been reading. It’s a blessing and a curse at the same time, because the girls go quiet and they look at you. “Who’s that, sweetie? Is that a friend of yours?” She smiles too broadly, “A close friend?”

Most of your friends know to leave you the hell alone Sunday night. A text from them sends your mom exactly down this line of questioning. You know what she wants to hear, and you know that the truth will make her sigh sadly. Plus the explanation might confuse her, and just provide fodder for Rose to dig into you again. So you take a breath and take your first step down a road you really, _really_ don’t want to go down. “My new boyfriend. Well, possible boyfriend. We’re still doing some preliminary dating.”

Rose’s disbelieving glare pales in comparison to Mom’s hopeful, delighted gaze. “Preliminary dating? Oh what does that mean, honey?”

“Yes, Dave,” Rose’s voice is a needle thin blade, “Do you really have the time to let _another_ lucky catch get away from you? You’ll be 26 this year.”

You stand up, “How do I know he’s the right catch unless I date him for a while before declaring anything? I got to make sure he can satisfy all my _needs_ , sweet sister.” You waggle your eyebrows. It makes your mom laugh but your sister curls her lip in disgust. “Anyway, he wants me to call, is it cool if I go for a bit, Mom?”

She waves her hand, “Tell him I say hello!” She laughs softly. You flash a smile and make your way out of the room.  You go down the hall, past the kitchen and into the front room. This far away, they will have to go through some effort to eavesdrop on you. You pull up Eridan’s number and, just before you press the call button, you hesitate. Call him? What can’t he say over text?

The memory of your first and only phone call with Eridan, as of yet, lurks in the back of your mind. You lick your lips and tap the button. The phone rings for about two seconds before it picks up. “He-,”

“About fuckin’ time,” His voice is impatient and rough in your voice. “I texted you like five fuckin’ minutes ago!”

“It’s Sunday, I’m having dinner with my family. Like I do. Every Sunday.” You reply curtly. “Besides, you send me a two word fucking text and you expect me to jump on it and call you right the fuck away?”

There’s a bit of silence. Then, and you can hear him thinking this over, he says slowly, “All right. Family dinner. I didn’t take you for much of a family guy, honestly, but all right. Sorry, I’ve had a bit of a day that is threatenin’ to be a bit of a week that I don’t want to really deal with.”

“And?”

“Thursday, are you busy?”

You blink in surprise. He got you to call him to ask him out on a date? “Uh. No? Yeah I don’t plan my whole fucking week out in advance.”

“Want to go out on a date?”

“Sure. Uh. Should I ask what the hell is going on?”

He gives a little chuckle, “I’ll explain Thursday. I’ll pick you up around five? Five thirty? I want to hit up the grocery store with you first and then we’ll go to my place and cook dinner. Sound good?”

“What, no spelunking this time?”

“Like I said,” he hisses out the words. He drops his volume significantly. What the fuck was he doing? Hiding somewhere? “I’ll explain Thursday. Anyway, I pick you up at your place?”

You keep quiet for a bit, letting him stew because fuck him right now. He might have gotten you away from the dinner and from stupid conversation, but he made you fucking cry this morning and you’re not exactly going to forget something like that now. But after a while of thoughtful noises you say, “All right. Pick me up at my place. This time I’ll bring some wine, hm?”

There’s a heartbeat of silence and then he huffs, “Fine. Just a bottle. One. And you better be able to fuckin’ handle your liquor.”

“It’s just a bottle, toots. It’s nothing to a Strider like me.”

He snorts. You can _hear_ him roll his eyes. “I’ll see you then, sugar.” You laugh and he hangs up.

The clapping behind you doesn’t startle you, luckily.  You turn around and aren’t surprised to see your mom peeking around the corner of the doorway with Rose standing, completely unhidden, a couple steps behind. Your mom claps again and comes into the room. She throws her arms around you and laughs, “Davey dear, you have a date over at a boy’s house!” She pats your hair and drinks her drink over your shoulder.

You smirk over her shoulder to Rose, who’s got her eyebrow arched at you. “And the name of your date, dear brother?”

“Does it matter?” Mom pulls back from the hug to tell you, Yes, of _course_ it matters. “It’s only the second date. There are a lot of second dates I’ve had. And this probably won’t be the last one either.” In your gut you feel the weight of your words, heavy and leaden like you know it’s a lie.

Your mom bemoans this all, but it is what it is. She’s just happy you’re dating someone. Rose has the look she’s been getting for years, the look that tells you she’s going to find out your secret and then rip it open. You can survive it, though, he’s just another friend after all. No one significant.

* * *

Tuesday, you texted Eridan, asking about the dress code this time before he shows up on your door wearing one thing when you expect another. He tells you dressy casual. Slacks, he says a second later, slacks and a button down shirt. Like you don’t fucking know what classy casual fucking was.

That night you text Terezi, but she doesn’t text back. Neither does Sollux. You bet the two of them are hanging out, as that’s the only fucking time they _both_ don’t answer your texts.

Wednesday, you find yourself at Porrim’s, leaning against the door and not remembering exactly how you got there in the first place. She opens the door for you, warmth and darkness welcoming you into her home. Just like always, you exchange blood for sex. You don’t remember exactly what, but then when you’re more than a little tipsy, you end up forgetting shit like that.

You end up at work on Thursday morning, though, just like you need to be.

You’re a little lightheaded by the end of the day, but you’re still good to go for the date. Of course you are. You’re Dave Strider and if you can’t handle a measly little date to the grocery store and to an apartment, then what could you handle?

The shower you take after work helps a little. It soaks water into your skin and into your scalp, drenches your hair and makes you feel clean inside and out. You scrub away the grim from work and the feeling into your face. You wash between your toes and behind your ears and every crevice and space in between. You come out feeling a little raw and clean on the outside.

But you’ve lost track of time and so, minutes after you get out of the shower, your doorbell goes off. You barely remember to grab a towel before you head over. You tighten the cloth around your waist and go to the door. You unlock and open the door. “Hey, sorry. I lost track of time. You can come in and wait for a bit while I dress, though. Is that all right?”

“Yeah sure.” He steps in, looking around. He keeps his eyes off of you. You only notice it because it’s the exact opposite of what you would have done where your situation reversed.

You leave him standing around, looking at whatever the hell he wants to look at, and head back into your room. It doesn’t take you long to dress, just a black pair of slacks and a grey button down shirt. You debate a vest for a while, but decide against it. If he wasn’t checking out your near-naked body at the door, then maybe this friend thing was true and you shouldn’t push your luck.

But the vest is silken on the back and while you’re puttering around your room you find the perfect white tie to go with it. So you slip it on after all, put on the tie and tuck it into the vest as well. You consider finding your suit coat, but when you can’t find it within a few minutes of searching, you give up. You tug on socks instead, and nice shoes, and run your hands through your hair. You style it just the way you want and head out again. “All right I’m re-,”

He’s holding one of your swords, has clearly been playing with it, the way he’s in mid swipe. He stares at you, wide eyed and surprised as you come out of your room. “Enjoying yourself?”

He lowers the blade, swinging it to the side a little. “Ah. Yes. Weapons are, well,” he gives you a smile that you could only call bashful, and he shrugs. “You could say I have a bit of an interest in weapons. Not swords primarily, but hell, a good sword is a good sword.” He hung it back up on the wall with a smile. His fingers slid down the metal, down the center of the blade. “I’m more of a gunman, but I can still see a finely crafted weapon and appreciate it for the skill it was made with.”

The softness of his tone surprises you. You didn’t have many people over because they always reacted oddly to your stash of swords. It was a habit you picked up from your Bro. In your opinion, they should be glad you hadn’t picked up his other habit of smuppets, but they usually had no knowledge of that to begin with. But fondness for weapons that could easily kill someone was not a reaction you’d gotten yet. He turns to look at you again, actually paying attention this time, and says, “Is that what you consider casually classy?”

“Do you like it?” you reply with a smug lift to your chin. “I just threw it together right now.” You walk forward and get your apartment keys from their place on the hall table below the knives. “So let’s go be classy in the grocery store, Grocery boy.”

He wrinkles his nose at you. You take advantage of his momentary disgust to step around him and open the door, “After you, m’lord.”

His wrinkled knows becomes a little smirk. “Thank you, knight.”

He leads the way out of your apartment to his truck. It’s the same purple one as before, no surprise there, and this time there’s a bag sitting on the front seat. This time, you get the door for Eridan and he laughs softly. When you climb in on the other side, he says, “The bag there is for you.”

“You got me a present?” You pull out the filmy paper on the top of the bag and reach in. There’s a book there. “Wait, this is from that book store you were at the other day.”

“Yup.” He turns over the ignition and pulls out of his parking space. “Do you like it?”

“It’s a book on the history of the Bushido.” You flip through the book. “This is literally, a book of the way of the samurai.” You stop to read a passage or two and then close it. This is, actually, kind of interesting. “Why?”

“Why that book?” He glances to you occasionally when he talks, “I saw the swords before in your house. Just a couple of them at first, but I know they’re Japanese blades so I thought somethin’ like this might interest you.” It makes sense. It’s the kind of thought process you might use if you were going to get him some music to listen to. Of course you’d want to do something he would like, but after your last car trip with him, you realize that he’s got no particular favorite genre.

“That’s not exactly what I meant by _why_ , though,” You put the bag aside and flip through the book again, so you don’t have to watch him driving. “Why did you buy me a book? You’ve known me for what, a week? Nearly two at this point, but it was a week when you bought this. Why did you spend your money on me?”

“We’re friends,” he says that without problem. Like people can actually just be friends without fucking. You tried that for years and it got you fucked up. Really fucked up. You don’t realize you’re folding your arms tightly over your chest until you have to gasp to suck in a breath. Eridan gives you a quick, concerned, glance, and you see his lips turn down in a frown. “Somethin’ wrong? Do you not want to be friends?”

“I don’t have a very good track record with friends.” That’s putting it lightly. “Let’s just say that Dave Strider does better a distance from everyone.”

His frown turns into a weird smile. It’s one that seems familiar to you, but wrong on his face. It bothers you. “Sure Dave, whatever you think.”

You’re about to question what the fuck he means with that when the truck jerks to a stop suddenly and the swear words rolling from Eridan’s mouth sound Shakespearean in their origin. Your eyes widen and then widen some more when it just gets more colorful. You look onto the road to see some asshole has cut him off. Eridan mutters under his breath for a while. You don’t feel like it’s wise to talk until he’s finally fallen silent at a red light.

“Shit. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

The look he gives you goes right into your gut. It chills you and turns your blood to lava at the same fucking time. The silence drags on far longer than you’re comfortable with and he finally looks away from you and says, “Would if I could. Haven’t seen her in years.”

You’re adrift in strange waters. That could be seaweed against your calves or it could be the fin of great white. “She’s not dead, is she?”

“Fuck no.” He gesticulates with his right hand, “She an’ Pop are out sailin’ the ocean together. It’s what he always wanted, and as long as she’s got her art tools, she’s fit as a peach.”

“It’s fit as a fiddle.”

He shoots you a glare but those strange waters aren’t so strange after all. You smirk back at him. “She’s just fuckin’ _peachy_.” Eridan turns his attention back onto the road. “They’re happy. That’s all I could ask for.”

You wonder for a moment if your Mom is happy. Then you chastise yourself for wondering. Of _course_ she was happy. She said so all the damn time when you went to visit. Happy to see you, happy to feed you, happy to talk to you; happy was her favorite damn word. You give yourself a little nod and look at the book in your hands again.

Friends. It had been a long while since you had a proper, no-fucking-in-the-back-seat friend. And there wasn’t any chance this one would run off and get married on you, now would he? Nah. Not Eridan. Who would want to marry this asshole?

“Here we are,” he murmurs, as if only talking to himself, as he parks his truck in between two orange lines. He turns off his truck with a twist of the keys and then flashes you a quick smile, “Ready to shop?”

You make a show of straightening your tie before replying in the affirmative. “Fuck yeah I am.”

The two of you walk through the parking lot and into the store like you own the place. You get more than a few casual glances, though Eridan doesn’t even seem to take notice of them. He picks up a little hand basket at the front of the store and strides in, knowing exactly where he wants to go. You follow, just a half step behind. You’re looking down the rows when you remember you said you were going to bring wine. Or at least _something_ alcoholic.

Eridan’s looking at two different vegetables, with an expression of concentration you haven’t seen since your last set of college finals. You touch his arm to get his attention. He doesn’t even look up when he asks, “Yes?”

“While you get some food, I’ll pick out the wine. Meet up at the checkout again?”

He looks up after your question and says, “Pick out a white or light red wine for dinner, please.” The ‘please’ is tacked on like an afterthought, as if he wouldn’t say please to just anyone.

You fight down the strongest urge to kiss him on the cheek and instead say, “Yes dear,” in a teasing tone. You chuckle when he looks away hurriedly, muttering a curse under his breath. It’s not a fancy one, so you figure you’re all right. You hurry away to the aisles of wine, searching through them for something cheap but not shit. It wasn’t an easy task.

You eventually come out with a white wine in one hand and a red one in the other. Eridan’s loitering at the end of a line, flipping through a magazine while he waits. You check your watch, but it hasn’t even been fifteen minutes. “Hey,” you say to get his attention, “You’re done already?”

“Hm? Oh, yes of course. I just needed to pick up a few things. I have most of what we’ll eat at home, just not the salmon or some fresh vegetables.” He folds up the magazine and puts it away, looking over to you, “The seafood comes in fresh every Thursday, so it’s the only day that I go out and buy it.”

“Wait, you eat meat? Or do you just eat fish, because it’s ‘not a real meat’.” You add air quotes as best as you can while holding two bottles of wine in your arms.

“Of course I fuckin’ eat meat.” He looks at you like you’ve grown a third eye and, on top of that, you’re a fucking moron. “Did you not pay any fuckin’ attention last Tuesday? I brought sausage an’ brie. The fuck is wrong with you?”

You can’t explain why you though he was a vegetarian. In fact, your cheeks are burning in embarrassment. It’s been a long time since you felt shame like that, so you look away, even though your shades hide your eyes perfectly, and bite on the inside of your cheek painfully hard. Idiot. _Idiot_ Dave. He was going to push you away now, mock you and humiliate you further. He had no reason to-

Eridan’s hand on your shoulder makes you jump. You see confusion in his frown and concern in the arch of his eyebrows. His gorgeous blue eyes are dark with, fuck, is that an apology he’s whispering to you? It’s soft, private, _intimate_. Have you really honestly forgotten what it was like to have a real friend?

You nod briskly when he’s stopped apologizing and look away from him again. He walks off to a checkout lane and you follow him. You still feel like an idiot, but at least he isn’t openly mocking you about it. You feel weird. Weird like you’re not yourself. Since when did another’s opinion matter so damn much to you? Since when did you care that you had completely missed something like the eating habits of a date? You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t feel this way. You never felt things like this when you were friends with John, right?

But there are memories that bubble up in the back of your mind, shimmering and sleek like oil on water. They say otherwise. You don’t touch them, though, you don’t fucking dare get into that in the middle of a public place.

You see the frown Eridan gives you when you put both bottles of wine on the conveyor belt, but he doesn’t say anything. You feel like you really need both bottles to help you get through the night. Things in you were being disturbed, turned over like a child was lifting all the little rocks in a garden and poking at the bugs that came crawling and squirming out. Smaller bugs were escaping the grasping hands of the child as he tried, desperately, to shove them back into their hidden world.

Your hands shook when you took out your money and your ID, but no one said anything about it, so you didn’t either. With both bottles tucked away into a bag, you followed Eridan back out to his car.

He sat silently in the driver’s seat, hand holding his key to the ignition, as he stared straight ahead. You picked at the wrapper of the wine bottle for a minute before you looked up, “Something wrong?” The weight of the air between you two was far too heavy for your liking.

You can tell he’s thinking something and not telling you when he shakes his head. “No. Nothin’s wrong.” He turns the engine over and begins driving again. You let the silence build and build, wondering if he’ll talk first, wondering if _you’ll_ talk first. You’d turn on the radio, but you can feel that there’s something about to happen. Like time and space had been waiting for a particular set of things to happen, and it was moments from occurring, but you just had no damn clue _what_ it was.

Your hand twitches on the cushion and you finally give in to the silence and reach for the radio. It’s only after you’ve started noticing his hand that you see that his hand was on the cushion near where your hand just been resting. Near yours and had been moving closer. But now he puts it back on the steering wheel and that moment was gone, wasted. What had he been thinking, anyway? Did he want to hold hands with you?

What did he think you were? Twelve? Fucking ridiculous.

The hand-touch near-miss is _not_ the reason why you fold your arms tightly over your chest, _not at fucking all_. You lean towards the door, looking out the window of the truck, and do your best not to look at him during the rest of the drive. You need a few minutes to gather yourself. You need Eridan to stop reminding you of John. You need some good fucking to clear your fuzzy mind, but all you have is music and this asshole who just wants to be _friends_.

The two of you end up downtown, maybe a few blocks from the university campus and where there are more high-rise apartments and underground café’s than the city knows what to do with. He pulls off the main road and down a back alley that leads to a parking lot for a set of apartments. Before he turns off the engine, he turns the radio all the way down. He looks at you, you can feel his gaze on the side of your head. “Are you sure you want to continue this date? Cause if some shit’s goin’ down I don’t want you to feel obligated to try an’ have a good time with me.” There’s a pause and then, “I mean you can stick around an’ be an asshole, I don’t give a fuck. Just don’t start gettin’ all fuckin’ moody on me an’ sulk all night. You can bitch about whatever the fuck it is, Dave. Trust me, I’ve heard worse.”

You turn, sneer curling your lip up, but his expression isn’t smug or pretentious. It’s tired. He looks old, really old like that. “What the fuck happened to you?” You don’t mean for the question to come out so cold, or so forceful, but once it’s out there, you can’t take it back.

Now he does get that smug little grin and that exhaustion in his features fades. He shrugs a shoulder and says, “I have to treat my friends like normal people treat dates, just to get people to hang out with me. What the fuck do you think happened to me?”

“I don’t know, but it sounds like a personal problem.”

“You’re a fuckin’ personal problem,” he mutters, but it’s with that amused chuckle he has that you’re really starting to like. He finally turns off the truck and grabs the groceries out of it. “C’mon, I promise you’re goin’ to love where I live.”

“Uh huh.” You grab your own bags and follow him. You even bring in the book, putting it back into its original present packaging. You’ve seen apartments like the ones around you. College kid rooms, with either too many kids or too much stuff crammed into too few rooms. You weren’t on the bad side of the college apartments, where people like the Makara’s fed off of the junkies and idiots with their parties of questionable nature, but it wasn’t the best part either. You weren’t excited for the climb up, either.

He walks you around to the front of the building, where the street is, and with some confusion, you follow him farther than that. He goes to the corner of the street, waiting for the light to change. Across the street you guess there are some apartments, but you see more shops than anything else. You look to Eridan questioningly, but he just smirks and waits for the light.

Across the street he leads you around the block to a street with lighter traffic. There’s this cute little cupcake place with a stairway below it. It’s like a few of those underground bars that you see on TV. Hideaway places that are either really great, family owned for generations upon generations, or some modern dance club.

Eridan walks down the steps and fiddles with his keys. At the bottom he unlocks the door and pulls it open. “Go on in, Dave.”

“Huh.” You walk in. It’s dark, but Eridan comes in behind you and flicks on the light. The room is wide and very, very open. The kitchen is too your left, and it looks more like a bar with a stove and a fridge than a conventional kitchen. Progressing from the bar on your left to the right side of the room, it goes from bare, hardwood floors to hardwood covered in eclectic rugs. There’s an enormous set of couches, one of those L formed sets and then several love seats with what looks like the biggest fucking bean bag chair you have ever seen.

There’s a projection screen rolled up on the far wall, but what really catches your attention are the bookshelves. Everywhere that there isn’t a door or a painting, and there are a few of those, are bookshelves. And they are crammed with books. It’s like walking into someone’s library. It’s like walking into a room that Rose would have killed for. A kitchen in a bookstore.

Eridan puts his bags on the bar and waves his hand out to the whole room, “So? What do you think?”

“It’s… different.” You go and put your bags on the counter too. “A lot of books, and places to sit also. I take it you read a lot?”

“I wasn’t really one for TV. My dad said it was just one more way to be controlled by the government. But it meant I could read every and any book I came across so, I don’t really see it as a problem.” He goes around the end of the bar and starts opening up the grocery bags as he talks. You jump up onto a high chair and lean your elbows on the counter top. “Social media tends to be a controlling force on the masses,” he says while opening up several bags of vegetables and putting them next to a cutting board. “People get misinformed more than they get informed, and every story is geared in some direction politically. There is no true neutral. There is no true people’s voice. Not even the voice of the masses is the voice of the people.” He pulls open a drawer and gets out a knife. He looks up at you seriously, “The voice of the masses is the voice of a herd of cattle. One starts mooing and pushing and the rest of the herd kicks up a fuss until they’re all stampeding off into the distance, tearing down everything in its path. And in its wake are the trampled fallen, the lame, the weak, the ones in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He doesn’t skip a beat in talking as he rolls up his sleeves.

You, however, spy something that makes you smirk. You interrupt him with a, “Are you going to put that on?”

He stops, looks at you, then follows your pointing finger to a hook. He blinks and then laughs. Eridan takes the apron off the hook and then says, “Sure, why the fuck not?” He ties it on easily. On the front there’s the head of a red trident, like someone changed the Betty Crocker spoon label and it reads underneath, _No Fuckin’ Bitchin’ in my Kitchen._ It gets a dry chuckle from you.

He returns to his prep, now opening up a paper package which turns out to have fish in it. He gets out a pair of pots and a large frying pan to put on the stove. “Now, where was I?”

“You were getting me a glass for the wine. And a corkscrew too.” You tap the bottle to the red wine, “I have two so why not drink while we wait?”

“Wait,” he snorts, but he’s rummaging through his cupboard for a pair of glasses, “you mean while I cook an’ you watch me.” He gets out two red wine glasses and puts them on the counter beside you. Then he gets a corkscrew and gives that to you too.

You open the bottle with a grunt and pour it out between the two glasses. “All right, so that might be the case. But you don’t want me to help you in the kitchen, I can heat shit up in the microwave or make a box of easy mac, but it looks like to me you’re whipping up something gourmet. I don’t want to get in the way of a master.”

You can see his ego grow in reaction to your words. “You know I wanted to thank you, for agreein’ to come over so readily. I know our last date didn’t end exactly how you had in mind.” His eyes are off you again, focused wholly on the fish he’s holding in his hands. You don’t know what the hell he’s doing with that knife, but he’s scraping at the skin of the fish with it. Little glittery scales are peeling off and getting all over the sink’s basin.

“That’s one way of putting it. What can I say? I’m used to dates ending when I’m trying to put my pants back on and find my shoes, not standing at my door and giving awkward goodbyes.” You give him points for not wincing. It certainly was a cringe worthy ending to an otherwise interesting night. Interesting, but not very satisfying.

He puts the fish on the cutting board as he says, “Yes. I’m aware.” He switches out the thin bladed knife he was scraping the fish with the chopping one from before. He doesn’t even hesitate a second before bringing the blade down and chopping off the head of the fish. “I’m also aware that you’re very interested in fuckin’ me. Somethin’ to do with denial makes the desire stronger, I’m thinkin’.”

You sit up straight, feeling a burn on your cheeks. He’s talking so calmly about sex. Not calmly in the way you’re used to, like it was nothing, but calmly like it was a serious, weighted topic of conversation. Like if he looked at you to talk, he _wouldn’t_ be very fucking calm at all. “Where’d you hear that?”

“A friend,” he says, “A friend who heard it from his friend who heard it from someone else and who probably heard it from someone else who probably heard it from you. Does it matter who told me? No. What matters is that you know that I know and that you know it isn’t goin’ to happen.”

You take a couple of mouthfuls of wine to try and calm yourself down and to give you time to think. While you do that, Eridan keeps butchering up the fish, flaying it open along the spine and deboning it carefully. “Is it because I sleep around?”

His hands pause. He looks up at you in some mild surprise, like he’s actually fucking shocked you’re that self-aware. You bristle at the gaze and he drops his chin back down. “Partially.”

“And what’s the rest of it?” Because you want to know. Because you must know. Because you went to Porrim’s yesterday for a good fuck to get it out of your system and you’re finding that didn’t really work. Because you’re thinking about how you wanted to kiss him in the grocery store, and how you wanted to hold his hand, and how you want him to fuck you into that giant bean bag until you’ve lost yourself in him.

“ _Dave_.” You jerk back to reality with wet hand on your arm. He’s looking at you in concern. You look down and see the glass in your hand has a fracture. Wine is dripping out like the glass is bleeding.

“Oh. Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He takes the glass from you carefully and dumps out the wine into the other glass. Then he takes it over to the trash and drops it in. “Are you all right though? You’ve been actin’ fuckin’ weird all night. I mean last Tuesday you were a lot more collected than this. Did somethin’ happen?”

You shake your head. No. Nothing had happened. That was part of the problem. Nothing had happened and nothing was going to happen and you really wanted something to happen. “What’s the rest of it?” You fold your hands together, because if you’re going to crush anything in your grip it might as well be something that belongs to you.

He drops his gaze down with a sigh. For a while he’s silent, heating up the pan on the stove with a little butter and some spices. He waits a while for the butter to melt before putting the fish in the pan. Then he covers it with a clear lid. When he goes back to the counter to chop up vegetables, he finally tells you. “Part a it is the fact that you sleep around with whoever you want. I don’t do that. I don’t want that. I want someone committed to me so that when I commit to them, I don’t feel like I’m the one doin’ everythin’. Cause I don’t do anythin’ half way, Dave. For me it is all or nothin’ an’ while sometimes the all is just friends, I still fully intend to give all a myself to the action.

“Part a it is I don’t think we would be compatible in a relationship. We’ve known each other for what, a week? Two almost? We’ve spent maybe four hours in that time in each other’s company. Our hobbies almost completely miss each other and that bullshit about opposites attracting? Its fuckin’ bullshit, because it’s the things in common that keep you together an’ I don’t think we have that much in common right now.

“Not to mention the fact that, despite havin’ you over at my house an’ taken you out to a cave hangout of mine, I don’t really know you. What I know is what I’ve been told, mostly, and while I’m doin’ my upmost to forget about all the pissants an’ the shit they say, you aren’t the easiest fuckin’ book to read. I don’t do too particularly well with people who keep shit to themselves. Some a that is just how I am  an’ some a that is learned.

“Which brings us to our last part, my trust problems. We can be friends, Dave, but I don’t think I could ever trust you enough to love you. An’ yeah, I do have to be in love with you before I sleep with you. I’ve only had sex with one person before in my life an’ that was-,” he stops suddenly. It takes you a moment to realize he’s not just stopped talking, but stopped moving. All while he was explaining, he was slicing away at vegetables, or going over to check on the salmon on the stove. But now he stands with his hand on the counter as if pressing his palms into the marble will stop them from shaking.

“That was a mistake I made that I don’t care to repeat,” his voice is soft. The feeling that fills your chest reminds you of the very first time you shared your personal, favorite photos with someone who wasn’t related to you. The word _intimate_ comes to mind and somehow it doesn’t seem adequate. “I spent a lot a years believin’ one thing only to find out at the worst time and in the worst way that I was a sea-suckin’ fool.” He shakes his head and sighs, heavily. “So no. We aren’t goin’ to sleep together. We can be friends, unless, a course, you can’t or don’t want to have to deal with me. If that’s the case, then we can finish up dinner here an’ I’ll take you home an’ we won’t have to talk again.”

For a while, the only sound is the cooking of the salmon, the running of water as he puts in a bit of water in a pot and the clunk of vegetables going into the pot as well. He’s silent as he works, and you are while you think. When he comes back to stand in front of you, this time to slice up some lettuce for what you can only assume is a salad, you put your hands on the counter of the bar, push yourself up and lean forward. Eridan looks up and sucks in a breath of surprise. You kiss him, leaning forward just enough to press your lips to his. He stands rigid, not kissing you back, but that’s all right. You’re really hardly kissing at all. It’s just a touch.

You try not to think about the last time you kissed someone so chastely. You try not to think about the last time you wanted to kiss someone as badly as you want to kiss him. You try not to think about how your heart is racing and your cheeks are burning and if he kissed you back you would probably die. You try not to think about anything at all. For once, it kind of works. Maybe. Just a little.

When you pull back, his cheeks are red from ear to ear and he’s shaking. “Didn’t you fuckin’ listen to me at all?” His voice rises in volume quickly, “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“I’ve been thinking about doing that since the grocery store. No, not the first time, the second time.” You sit back on your chair, “And don’t fucking tell me we aren’t compatible. You don’t know shit about me. I don’t know shit about you. So let’s forget about fucking for a while. That’s fine, I can get that in other places, but I want to be your friend. Can I try that? Will you let me?”

“And in what fuckin’ world do friends kiss?” He actually hisses out the words.

“Mine,” you say simply, “At least the one where I keep my sanity. Look, I don’t want to swap spit with you or make out or go tumbling around on your giant bean bag thing,” except that you do. You really _really_ do. “but I keep wanting to give you kisses, like, fuck I don’t know, friend kisses or something.”

He looks at you with this disgusted expression. You feel like gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe and that sits in your stomach like a rock. “Eridan,” you’re about to beg but he holds up his hand for silence.

“Fine. Just, ugh, fine. Friend kisses, whatever the hell those are. But nothin’ more than that, do you understand me?” He mutters in another language under his breath, it sounds almost German or something, and goes to check on the salmon again.

You drink from your wineglass, feeling more accomplished than you have all week. There was no way he was going to survive on friend kisses alone. You’d get him into bed and then you would finally be over this fucking insanity that had become your life when you were around him.

There’s some comfortable silence for a while and then Eridan drastically changes the topic with a, “So on Sunday you eat with your family?”

You’re in a good mood, so you decide to open up a little bit. “Yeah. These days it’s just my sister and my mother and I, but when my bro’s in the country he joins us. It’s just that right now he’s overseas.”

“Military?” Eridan is slicing up an apple with more ease than you’ve seen anyone do and putting the slices into the salad. “Or something else?”

“Military. He had some rough spots in high school, got into some trouble and so it was juvie or the military to straighten him out. He joined the Marines and he never looked back. I think he’s in Special Forces right now, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Does he enjoy it?” Eridan crouches down momentarily and comes back up with a container full of rice. He puts a cupful in a rice cooker and adds some water as well, “If he’s still in the military out of his own choice, anyway.”

“Yeah I guess. It’s sometimes hard to tell with him. All growing up it was like nothing really ever made him happy. He didn’t, you know, smile much. That’s how he got into trouble. He would do shit for the thrill of it and got caught.”

Eridan gives you a curious look. “Sounds like a psychological thing.”

“He never went to therapy at home, so we don’t know for sure. But that hasn’t stopped my sister from trying to psychoanalyze him and the rest of us too.” You sip from the wine glass again.

“Hm, well, that’s not my area of expertise, unfortunately, so I’ve got nothin’ but heresay advice at best.” He gets himself another glass and you pour him some whine too. He gives you a brief thanks and then adds, “Ready for the first course?”

“Sounds fancy. Why not?” While he gets out little plates and forks, you ask, “And what is your specialty then?”

“Oceanography and history. I dabble in some chemistry and non-marine biology, but those are my interests so that’s where I study an’ work.” He serves salad for you and then for himself. Shortly after, he checks the salmon, turning it also. Then he turns on the pot of vegetables. “To be specific, I study the ocean floor and world conquerors. Also a little bit of the history of weapon evolution.”

“All right, so what do you _do_?” The salad is actually pretty good, for being a mass of leafy vegetables. The lettuce is crisp and the slivers of apple and carrot you find add some flavor variety.

“I work in the research department at the college here. I got a good internship an’ the work is interesting. Plus there’s a chance in the future I’ll be able to actually go down an’ check out the trenches with some fuckin’ ocean submarine pod shit. It’s like space exploration except on Earth.” He gestures with his force as he talks, rambling on for a while more about the ocean and shit there for a good ten more minutes.

You listen, sort of, eating salad and drinking wine. You catch yourself watching him more than listening and blame it on the growing alcohol in your system. You weren’t exactly the lightest drinker, but your head was already light from the blood drain the day before.

Eridan gets out the second course, the salmon fillet and steamed mixed vegetables with rice, after you’re both done with the salad. With the stove off, he leaves the kitchen area to come around to the bar side like you. He sits beside you and the two of you talk while you eat.

You find yourself trying to explain family dynamics to him after a while and when you notice you’re revealing a lot of personal shit, you turn the conversation towards him. It turns out he’s got a fisherman dad and an asshole musician freelancer mooching brother. They, however, are not his greatest issue, which turns out to be a nosy mother. A nosy mother who figured he had been single for long enough and was trying to set him up with “lovely girls that come into the bakery”.

Turns out his desperate phone call to you was an attempt to get out of one of those set up dates. You were the first person he could think of that would definitely be available.

After dinner, he’s got dessert, if you want it. He says it isn’t much, just some pie that his mother made. You of course accept and are soon enjoying a slice of reheated apple pie with whipped cream. Eridan doesn’t eat any himself, though. He just sips his glass of white wine and explains how Genghis Kahn was the greatest conqueror in the world. When you think you’ve had enough of that, you lean in with the intention of silencing him with another friend kiss.

He leans back but goes quiet, staring at you. But you wait. He agreed, didn’t he? Yes, yes he fucking did. So you wait and after some inner conflict that you watch play across his features with fascination, he leans in and kisses you on the cheek. It isn’t exactly what you wanted, but at least he stopped talking about horsemen. You smirk and lean back, smug as hell in your chair. “Want to move to somewhere more comfortable?”

He looks to the dishes and makes the obvious mental decision to take care of them later. He stands, “To the bean bag chair?”

“Fuck yeah,” you grin, putting down your glass for a second. You get up in a rush and that’s when shit falls apart. That distant lightheadedness you were feeling swims up to the front of your mind and that, coupled with the alcohol in your system sends you into blackness. You don’t even feel it when you hit the floor.


	5. Chose to Care

“—no no, it’s not a problem, I was just worried if he had some sort of a condition--”

“—I’ve seen people passin’ out because of alcohol an’ this wasn’t like that—”

“—an’ she wasn’t much help really. In fact I’m half convinced she was laughin’ at him. You know in that way people don’t laugh but they find it really fuckin’ funny the shit you’re doin?”

“—him not to worry about it. Honestly, I got it under control. I think he’s even comin’ around now. Oh shit, yeah he’s wakin’ up. I’ll talk to you later Ara.”

There’s light and, ugh, your head feels like shit. You feel like shit in general. Drunken shit. But whatever you’re lying on is comfortable as hell. You feel like rolling over, but your limbs are heavy and after a few half-hearted attempts at trying to roll you give up. You frown as the soft thing you’re lying on sinks under someone’s weight. That someone turns out to be Eridan, looking down worried at you. His hand touches your forehead and then your cheeks.

“Hey Dave,” he whispers softly, “how are you feelin’?”

You groan. Loudly.

“Yeah. You took quite a dive. Were you not feelin’ good or somethin’?”

You nod your head and immediately regret doing so.

“Let me get you some water.” The soft thing, which your mind has finally translated to the bean bag, shifts again as he gets up. You distantly hear water running and within a minute or two he’s back. Eridan’s arm around your shoulders is surprisingly strong as he lifts you up to drink the water. With shaking hands, you try to hold the glass, but he doesn’t give it to your control entirely. After you drink, he lays you back down. “Feelin’ better?”

“Yeah,” you gasp out. “What happened?”

“You stood up to walk over here with me and crashed. You’ve been in and out for the past hour or so.” He stays beside you. You can feel his hand at your shoulder.

“I remember hearing you talking…”

“Yeah. I was on the phone gettin’ some advice. I haven’t dealt with anyone passin’ out on me for a while now. But the advice is to just let you rest after you have some water so you can regain your strength. Do you have any idea what happened?”

“Porrim,” you mutter. You manage to pull an arm up to touch your face. Your glasses are off, but you don’t have the energy to be pissed off about that. Instead you put your arm over your eyes to block out the light. “Went to her place for some relief yesterday. She took some blood.”

“She took some… what the fuck are you givin’ blood to Porrim Maryam for?” He actually sounds upset about it.

“It’s our agreement. She fucks me and gives me advice. I give her my blood.”

The silence drags on, and on. Minutes pass until Eridan says, “You’re an idiot.”

“Look, I don’t know how you know about her, but it’s not a big issue. So I get a little weak, it’s no big deal. Usually I don’t go to her twice in two weeks, but yesterday was an exception.” The next thing you know, Eridan has pulled your arm off your face and he’s lifting you up by the front of your shirt. He’s furious. The anger you saw on him earlier is nothing compared to this. This face reminds you of your brother’s when he’s in the middle of one of his fucked up nightmares.

“You don’t just give away your blood that often you idiot. You could really get yourself fucked up. You could get sick or pass out in a public place, or fuckin’ hell, you could pass out in your place by a counter or some shit and crack your head open where no one can fix you up. Don’t you give a shit about yourself? I fuckin’ get that you have no moral integrity but don’t you have any damn common sense?” He shakes you, sending your dizzying mind reeling around and around.

You flail, reaching out and grabbing his arms. “Eri- Eridan, st-stop.”

He jerks to a stop and you suck in a steadying breath. You close your eyes to stop the world from swirling. “Sorry,” he whispers. His voice sounds really, really fucking close, “Sorry Dave.”

“Why do you care so damn much?” You’re mostly muttering that to yourself, because you honestly can’t fucking figure him out. But he answers you.

“Because I chose you as my friend. Because I chose to care about you. An’ the more I find out about you the more I fuckin’ realize you desperately need someone to care about you, cause you don’t care at all, do you?” The hands on your shirt loosen. You swear you feel fingers on your cheek. You open up your eyes a crack to see his stunning blue eyes searching your face. “You don’t care about yourself at all.”

You have nothing to say to that. You just close your eyes again.

You feel his lips on your cheek, soft like his fingertips. Then he must sit up, because the next time he speaks, his voice is from farther away. “You’re stayin’ the night and I won’t hear you arguin’ with me about it. Now I got shit to do out here some more so you’re goin’ to stay in my bed. Understood?”

“I knew I was going to get into your bed somehow,” you laugh weakly.

He heaves a sigh. “You really are a piece of work, Dave. Now come on.” You’re about ready to try and figure out how to get your heavy limbs to start listening to you and push you up when you feel his arms doing that for you. You open your eyes to him picking you up like a toddler, your head on his shoulder and his arms holding you up under your ass. You put your own arms around his shoulders and smile. No one has picked you up in a long, long time. You didn’t know some weird ocean historian would be so damn strong.

Eridan carries you away from the large front room and through a door in the back. It opens up to what appears to be a study, if the large desk, computer, more bookshelves and fucking rifles on the walls are any indication. The room beyond that one is his bedroom. He turns on the light, but only a pair of dim lamps on the walls turn on. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though. He walks straight to his bed and lies you down on it.

The comforter is soft, the satin sheets beneath it are cool. He’s pulling off your shoes before you can say anything. You prop yourself up with one hand and watch him. You can’t think of anything better to do or anything to say that won’t end up with him stopping, so you just sit and watch.

He actually unties your shoes before pulling them off. He sets them by the bed on the floor, one beside the other. Off next come your socks. Then he’s kneeling one knee on the bed while he unbuttons your vest. He slides that off your shoulders and puts it on the bed beside you. There’s not even a moment of hesitation before he starts unbuttoning your shirt. He pulls that off, leaving you with your undershirt on, and folds it up to go beside your vest.

You figure he’s about done when his hands go to the front of your pants. He undoes your belt buckle and slides it right off your hips before you can let out a word. You do, however, moan. You can’t help it. He’s so damn focused, so in control, and that is all turned towards you. It was like watching a painter in the moment, or someone listening to their favorite music. But your noise breaks that trance and he jerks back off the bed suddenly, belt still in hand. “I…” He looks at the belt, then at you, then at the wall. “I figured you were still weak an’ maybe would be more comfortable…this way.”

You’re in trouble. You are in serious fucking trouble. You can feel it starting before you even open your mouth to talk. “Eridan,” you get his attention. You wait for him to look at you again, “Please.”

At his look of confusion, you reach for him with one hand. He’s just within reach, so you grab his arm and pull him towards you. You slide your hand down his arm to his wrist and bring his hand to your hip. You’d put it right on your hardening cock if you think you could get away with it. “Fuck me.”

This time he recoils far enough that he’s almost to the opposite wall. He’s red and breathing deeply. You wish you knew if he was being affected by this situation as well or if it was just fucking you again. So you lick your lips and say it again. “Please fuck me.”

The uncertainty on his face is burned away by something inside of him. He straightens up. You love the way his shoulders square and he lifts his chin. You even love the way he looks down at you, like you’re less than him for behaving like that, but it’s okay, he understands. He knows you can’t help but be fucked up. If you had the strength in your legs, you would get up and pin him to that wall in kisses, but just the thought of holding up your weight makes your knees wobble.

“Dave, go to sleep,” he speaks slowly, clearly, biting off each word with those lovely teeth of his. “You know I’m not goin’ to do that an’ you know why.”

You open your mouth to say something you haven’t even properly formed in your mind but he cuts you off with a scowl and the words, “Go the fuck to sleep.” He walks forward and scoops up your clothes, socks included, and then he hesitates. You look up at him with your best pleading expression, but he just leans in to kiss your fucking goddamn forehead and walks away. He just walks away from you.

Indignant and upset and horny as fuck, you feel perfectly justified in burying your face in his pillow and whacking off in his damn bed. You clean up with your undershirt, throw it over the edge and then roll over. It doesn’t take you much longer after that to fall asleep entirely.

* * *

You wake up in a strange bed, alone. It takes you about thirty seconds of reaching out for either the wall or another person before you sit up and look around. The room is dark as fuck, with no windows or light from anywhere. You stumble out of bed and towards what you hope is the wall with the light switch. Instead you find a door. You open the door and grope for a switch. Finally summoning light, you blink away the dizzying spots before your eyes and look around.

It’s a moderately sized bathroom, themed like the ocean; complete with seashell wall paper and little jars of colored sand on the shelf above the toilet. You sigh in relief and decide to wake yourself up with a long shower.

You strip down and leave your clothing on the floor.  You turn on the water, get it to the right scalding temperature and climb in. The grateful groan you give is all satisfaction. The lengthy shower gives you time to recall your fuck ups yesterday and devise a way to make up for them. Provided, of course, that Eridan still wanted anything to do with you.

You get out of the shower, wrap a towel around your waist and head out of the bathroom altogether. You find Eridan in the bedroom. He’s putting some clothing on the bed. He’s already dressed for the day.

He blinks. “Uh. Good mornin’.”

“Are you just incapable of saying the ‘g’ sound in words that end with ‘ing’ or is this some sort of weird accent you just use to be cool.” Shit. That was not how you meant to start the day. Try again? “Also, good morning to you too.”

He cocks an eyebrow and says, “That depends, how capable are you a not jackin’ off in another guy’s bed?”

“How the fuck do you…” You wince. “I can explain…”

He puts up a hand for silence, “Don’t worry about it. You were fucked up last night an’ to some degree so was I. Besides, I needed to wash my sheets anyway.” He actually starts stripping the bed right the fuck there, after picking up the clean clothes from on top of it and shoving them into your arms. “Go ahead an’ get dressed. There are some scrambled eggs an’ toast in the kitchen if you eat breakfast.”

“Yeah. Okay.” You hesitate a second before going back into the bathroom, “About yesterday, if there’s any way I can make up for it…”

He gives you a smile that tells you he can probably be as devious as your sister, because you’ve seen that look on her face before, “Oh don’t worry. I’ll think of somethin’.”

As ominous as that sounds, you are okay with it. You deserve it after all, considering the little shit head you were to him last night. So you nod and disappear into the bathroom to change.

You come back out to an unsurprisingly empty room. You abandon it to head to the kitchen, but on your way you get _majorly_ sidetracked by his study. You vaguely remember going through it the night before, but what you remember isn’t anything like this. The desk and every other surface is littered with open books and piles of papers. The computer is on. There’s some program running on it, though a part of it looks like a radar symbol and the other box looks like a heart monitoring system. Weird as fuck that is.

On the walls isn’t one, or two, but five fancy as fuck rifles. You don’t know if they’re functioning, but the metal on them gleams. There are two large bookshelves that frame the rifles, and a pair of enormous antlers on the wall above them. They’re gorgeous antlers and the animal they must have come from would have been just as awesome.

“Dave?” calls Eridan from the main room, “Are you dressed yet?”

“Yeah,” you call back. You finally tear your gaze off the guns and turn to leave. Just as you do you notice a small framed picture on the desk. You step over, picking it up to get a better look at it. It’s just a picture of Eridan and a girl. It takes you a moment to realize that girl is Feferi. You’ve never seen her with hair that long, down to her waist in a massive black wave of curls. Eridan’s smiling in a way that looks like his face hurt after the picture was taken and Feferi’s got a look on her face that looks just like every sweet angel faced woman you’ve ever seen a picture of.

“Well if you’re dressed, can you stop takin’ such a fuckin’ long time gettin’….” You hear Eridan approaching, but you’re still looking at the picture. There’s something about it that you just can’t quite figure out. You don’t expect him to rush over and snatch it out of your fingers. You look up at him in shock, to argue with him, but the look of sadness and anger mixed together in his tightly frowning lips, furrowed brow and narrowed eyes strikes you in a way you can’t get past easily. “Don’t be touchin’ things that don’t belong to you.”

“Sorry man, I didn’t realize pictures of you and your sister were not for mortal eyes.” You lift up your hands in mock surrender.

Even if he were a dog, his snarl at you couldn’t be any better. “This isn’t my sister, you asshole. Now go get some fuckin’ breakfast.”

He glares you down until you walk out of the study. You glance back over your shoulder in the doorway to see him looking down at the picture with a heartbroken fondness that makes your teeth ache in your head. The heartbreak, while not familiar to you, was intense. That look of fondness, however, was even more so and you had seen it before.

Once, when John had been showing you pictures of his once girlfriend-now-wife, that fondness had been on his face took. What the _hell_ had happened between Eridan and Feferi? You abandon the study entirely to go find that food he had told you about before. You tuck away the thought of asking Feferi what was up the next time you saw her. Clearly, Eridan didn’t want to talk about it at all.

The scrambled eggs that you find are not what you expect. You swear there are bits of chopped up ham, spinach and green onion with it, plus some really good cheddar melted on top. You greedily put the egg mixture on the toast and dig in with a hungry gusto. Eridan eventually returns from the study and pours himself some coffee. He gives you some as well as a charming smile.

“I’d really like to stick around and talk with you this mornin’, considerin’ the early evenin’ we had last night, but I’ve got to get down to the school an’ start my work,” he says while cleaning up breakfast. “Is there anywhere you want me to drop you off or anythin’?”

“Nah. I think a walk would help clear my head.”

He frowns a little, like he doesn’t believe you, but doesn’t argue. “All right. Can you be ready to go in about five minutes?”

“Sure.” You wolf down the last of the toast and egg and drink the rest of your coffee to wash it down with.

“Great.” He finishes putting the dishes in his dishwasher and turns it on. “I’ve got to finish getting ready.”

While he walks off to do whatever the hell it is he does to get ready, you decide that being on the bean bag chair while lightheaded and passed out doesn’t count. You get down from the bar and head across the room. You flop down on the chair with a grateful sigh. It’s a lovely thing, surrounding you on all sides. It cushions your body easily, and though it restricts your vision to the ceiling, it is so fucking worth it.

Five or ten minutes pass by and then you look up to see Eridan looming over you. He’s giving you a little smile, “Like it?”

“Hell yeah.” You reach up a hand, “I don’t think I can get out on my own.”

He grasps your wrist and you grab his. He pulls you to your feet, stepping back a little to give you space. He has a bag slung over his shoulder, a coat on and a scarf as well. You grin and reach up to straighten his scarf slightly. “You look nice. Better than I do right now.”

He arches an eyebrow at you, “Watch what you say, those are my clothes you’re wearin’ there.”

“Oh believe me, babe, I know.” He lets you put your hand on his shoulder. His expression is all dry amusement, so you figure it’s all right to lean in and kiss his cheek.

He flushes a little and turns away, “Come on Dave, time to go.”

“Aye aye captain.” That makes him laugh.

You leave before him, so he can flick off the lights and lock up the place. It’s not too particularly bright outside, but then the clouds overhead are thick and ominous. You head up the stairs before him, to the sidewalk. You’ve got to head west, but if he’s going to the school he’s going east. “Looks like here is where we part ways.”

“Yes.” He adjusts the bag on his shoulder, “Are you certain you don’t want a ride home?”

“Positive. It’s not that far, really, and I like walking.”

He nods, “Me too. All right then, see you later Dave.” But before he gets too far, you go after him and grab his arm.

“Wait, Eridan, one more thing.”

“Yes?” He looks at you curious, as if he’s wondering what you’ve forgotten, or if you’ve changed your mind.

You just lean in and peck a quick kiss on his lips, leaving him blushing and speechless in the middle of the sidewalk. “Have a great day, love,” you say it teasingly, but the moment that word drops from your lips, you feel a lump in your throat. He fusses and mutters to himself before walking off in a huff. You stand, staring after him for a while longer than you probably should. Love? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You couldn’t…. no fucking way….

You hurriedly turn around and walk west, towards your apartment, desperately trying to talk yourself out of this one. You get three and a half blocks from home before you realize you’ve left your phone at his place.

This was just not turning out to be your week.


	6. And Nothing Else Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave really doesn't have any dignity left.

After about the first twenty minutes of freaking the fuck out because you didn’t have your phone, you get this weird sort of sense of freedom. You could be missing calls or texts or whatever the hell else it is your phone picks up, but at the same time, it wasn’t your fault if you didn’t answer back. You didn’t have your phone with you. You weren’t purposely ignoring anyone. You were just a little bit more off the grid, just a little bit more unattached. It started spurring some crazy ideas in your head for no damn reason at all.

In fact, your mood was seriously looking up by the time you got to your apartment. Even the impending thunderstorm didn’t bother you. No pressure change induced headache, no gloom and doom feeling from the darkness, nothing. For all the random shit of yesterday, Friday was looking up.

You had even begun to whistle out a sweet tune, one that you are actually interested in remembering, as you rode the elevator to your apartment. It was the first time in, well, you can’t really remember when, since you had a melody that you wanted to actually work on. Music had kind of abandoned you when your best friend had.

You get to your apartment, though, and the door’s unlocked. With a sudden, gusty sigh, the music leaves you. There’s only one person who has a key to your place. You are very uninterested in speaking with her right now.

Pushing open the door, you call out, “Hello Rosie.” No foot like the best foot to start this fantastic conversation on. And you’re right, she is in, because there is her petite little purple jacket hung up on a peg beside your door. That peg doesn’t ever get used by anyone except visitors. Your jackets were always slung over the backs of chairs.

She appears in the doorway that leads to your kitchen with a cup of tea in a mug you swear you don’t own and with a smile like an eel. “Hello dear David. Welcome home.” Her gaze flicks over you and her smile deepens, “I do so love your purple shirt.”

You glance down at Eridan’s purple button down shirt that you’ve been wearing. It fits you all right, though it’s a little loose in the shoulders. Really it was his nice black pants that you kept thinking about this morning. You put your hands in those silk lined pockets and shrug your shoulders. You walk into your place, nudging the door shut with the heel of your shoe. “Isn’t it nice? Borrowed it from a friend.”

She stirs her drink slowly with her spoon before lifting it up to her lips to sip from it. “Your friend called me yesterday night. It seems you worried him mightily when you decided to collapse on the floor of his apartment.”

Of fucking course. “Did I now? Well I can assure you there’s nothing for you to worry about.” You walk towards her. She backs up into the kitchen, to let you through. You look around a little, to see what else she’s decided to fuck with, but can’t see anything in particular. You know it’ll jump out at you later, when she’s gone. Once, you came home to find her sitting pretty on your couch and after she’d left it took you two days of stubbed toes and bruised knees to realize she moved everything in your living room five inches to the left.

While you look, you decide it’s about time to find something to eat. It’s about that time anyway, plus you had the long walk over and you’ve got work in an hour or so to go to.

“One would think that given your decision to pursue dangerous habits, you would at least be thoughtful enough to not leave yourself helpless to people like that.” Rose has settled herself down at your table, watching you through her lowered lashes and ever with that slight smile of hers. It’s her default expression, just like your default is nothing at all.

“You know I can’t help it. It’s part of my dangerous lifestyle, Rose. I gotta go running around leaving myself helpless to all kinds of people. I’ve got a quota to fill and it won’t be done on its own, you know.” You find a container of leftovers from dinner with your mother on Sunday. Fuck yeah. “And what kind of person is he, anyway?”

“More to the point,” she says, “is your decision to put yourself on the receiving end of Porrim’s needle so often. I had thought you had done away with that habit when you slunk your way out of your goth phase.” She wrinkles her nose at the word goth.

“What, can’t bear to remember the days of heavy eyeliner and black dresses of your own roll in the dark side?” You laugh, “And I might have given up everything else of that shitty time, but Porrim transcends gothic behavior. She is the vampire queen and besides, we both know I get good in return for my blood.”

There’s the eye narrow she gives you, a way to silently shut you up. It’s not one that your mother is in possession of. This gaze was all fucking Rose. You knew your sister well, and the weak parts of you that she drug up from your past to throw at you had her stink all over them. After all, you followed her lead in many, many ways when you two were teens. “Eridan is a different sort altogether, Dave. He isn’t like the trash you spend your time with. He isn’t like Porrim either. He isn’t Terezi and he isn’t Aradia. He’s different.”

“Yeah,” you know that. Fuck, do you know that. “He’s like John.”

You actually hear the click of her mouth as she snaps it shut. You glance over your shoulder to see her staring back at you, eyes wide. “What?”

“He’s John. He gives a fuck. Hell, he gives all of them and then some. And you know what the worst part is? I think he got his Serket and then lost her or some shit.” You remember that fond look on his face, that fond, sorrowful look when he held Feferi’s picture. “He’s a John who lost his girl and won’t ever get her back again.” You lean against the counter, waiting as your food heats up in the microwave.

“He isn’t like John either,” Rose says icily. Whatever feelings you had about John and your friendship with him, hers, you know, were worse. Rose hadn’t even attended the wedding. How could she? She had loved John but he had only thought of her like a sister. “He isn’t at all like John and you fucking know it.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Well, I don’t think your meddling is going to keep him away, Rose. He’s committed to try and be my friend and you know what? I think I want to keep him around.”

“You don’t know the first thing about him, Dave. You don’t know what he’s done or said, or who he is. I’m certain he’s shown you this interesting little side of him, full of fine dining and whatever the hell else he’s got tucked away to impress people, but I’m telling you the truth here. He’s dangerous. He’s not fucking stable. He’s not some nice guy through and through like John is. He’s got some really serious issues!”

“Let me guess,” you’re getting tired of this. You really, really are. Can’t you ever fucking decide something without having unnecessary commentary from your sister, from fucking anyone? “He’s got some death wish for the world, wants to take it over with a couple of missile launchers and make everyone bend over and call him Prince Eridan of the Goddamn Universe, right?”

Her stern silence is all you need.

Jerking your thumb against your chest, you say, “Well I don’t give a fuck. Let him have his world domination plans, or his genocidal plots. I don’t care. Is being my friend going to make those things happen? I don’t think so. He’ll just have one more person to rant about his shitty ideas to, and you know what? Maybe I’ll have someone to fucking talk to like a normal human being instead of being lectured by mom, nagged by you, shoved out of cars and ignored when it’s inconvenient to talk to me! So get the hell out of my apartment, Rose. I’m going to eat my damn lunch and then go to my shitty job.”

She stands, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles are white. She presses them down against the table and leans forward, “You’ll see it, Dave. He’s going to show you his nasty side sooner or later, and don’t you dare come crying to me when your new best friend dumps your sorry ass just like your last one did.” She dug in the knife and twisted it, hard, with that one, but you’re too numb with anger to feel it yet. “Thank you for the fucking tea.”

You grunt in response and watch as she storms out of the kitchen. You hear her a moment later, grabbing her coat and slamming the door shut. Just after that the microwave timer goes off. With an annoyed sigh, you take it out and stir it. Still fucking cold in the middle. Damnit.

* * *

“How nice of you to join us, Strider,” are the very first words out of your boss’s mouth when you walk in the door. She’s leaning against the counter, her too small shirt tight over her chest. She’s got one hand on the counter and she’s tapping her long blue fingernails across the surface over and over in that really fucking irritating way. You were going to salvage whatever good mood you had left and play nice, but you were really hoping that she wouldn’t be in to loiter around today. The last thing you need is her bitching at you on top of all the other shit of your week.

“Sorry, had to finish up some personal business. You wouldn’t understand,” you try to dismiss her but she is not having it today.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t, considering you conduct your personal business on your back.” She’s looking at her nails, now, to pretend she isn’t waiting for your reaction, “By the way, Paul fucked up the machine yesterday night, so be a dear and go fix it, hm?”

“Not sure I can,” you say, “Do I have to be on my back?”

She laughs her fake little laugh and shoos you away. “Off to it, Skippy, I’ve got to check the computer.” You open the little gate to behind the counter for her and she sashays past you, cloud of perfume floating around her and everything. You get to work pulling apart the photo machine and fiddling with it. Paul isn’t the one at the cashier today, though, it’s little miss Nepeta, cute wiggly orange cat ears, blue cat tail and sweet, curvy ass. She’s cheerful as fuck and about as effective as a double dose of sugar into your blood.

“Dave! Hi!” She giggles, bending over to you while you’re crouching behind the machine. You lower your shades just for her, and to get a clear view of her breast. She waves her hand at you and you give her a little salute back.

“Hey Nepeta, good to see your mood can even withstand the gale force winds of the Blue Bitch.” Unfortunately, you have to stop admiring the view. She’s still under eighteen and you got a fucking rule about that. Plus, this machine really did need your loving touch.

“Oh she just needs some TLC! I told her she should really go see a doctor about that stick up her ass, and maybe get a massage while she’s out but you know her!” Nepeta sucks in a breath to puff out her cheeks and do her best impression of Vriska. “Nepeta, you climb down off that counter you little witch! Get back to work and stop meowing at the customers! Don’t you know how to do your job!?” You have to admit, though, Nepeta did have a weird habit of climbing on the counter and pretending to be a cat.

There were some that were driven crazy working here and some that were just crazy enough to apply on their own. “Sounds about right,” you say, “I’d love to chat, babe, but I’ve really got to focus on how this baby was fucked up. You know how Paul can really do a number on her.” You lovingly pat the side of your photo printer machine. Nepeta sighs and agrees to leave, but not before she crouches down to your level and rubs her cheek on your shoulder. She gives you those big green cat eyes of hers and you really, _really_ wish she was eighteen.

She flounces away with a swish of her blue tail and you sigh. Back to work it was for you both.

* * *

You’ve just clocked off to go onto your dinner break when your boss pages you to the office room. Nepeta gives you that wide-eye, worried-curious look and you just wave it off. You know what she wants, even if your sweet hearted little co-worker didn’t. You head to the back, past the bathrooms and the break room to the little white door with the peeling paint in the corner. Right square in the middle it says:

 _Office Room:_  
Knock before you enter.  
Manager:  
Vriska English

You knock on the door and then push it in slightly. “You summoned?”

Just as you expect, the Blue Bitch herself is sitting on the edge of the desk, legs spread slightly, with her hair down and shirt partially unbuttoned. She licks her red tongue over her blue lips and says, “On your back, Strider, it’s time to earn your pay.”

You close and lock the door behind yourself, thanking God you remembered to put a condom in your pocket today, and roll your shoulders to stretch them. “What, fixing the broken lab isn’t enough?”

“Oh _honey_ ,” She laughs condescendingly at you, “That old thing? I could make a phone call and have it fixed faster and more reliably than you. Please, you’re really only here for one thing and we both know it.”

And for the first time since you even considered this as a viable option in your workday, you’re disgusted. The idea of her sliding up and down your body, her hands on you, give you a shudder of displeasure that keeps you soft, even in the face of such gorgeous breasts as the one’s she’s got. But you kind of, definitely, need this job if you’re going to keep from moving back into your mom’s place. And, if you were going to be honest with yourself, fucking your boss was definitely better than living with Mom again.

So you walk in and do what you have to do. You’re glad that she only pulls on your hair a little and negates the use of words by demanding silence in these trysts. The less you have to remember about this event, the better for you.

But you make it through, closing your eyes tight as you possibly can, and imaging someone else (with a hell of a better ass than her) riding your cock.  You leave her satisfied, a used condom in the waste basket, and with a couple minutes to spare scarfing down a dinner to get you through the rest of your working hours.

You leave as soon as you’re done repairing the machine. Nepeta gives you big sad eyes when you walk out, though, but Vriska just waves her hand at you without so much as a glance. You’ve satisfied the Blue Bitch for one more week, at least, and there was hardly any of your pride left to damage, anymore.

It’s pouring rain outside so badly that you can’t even see the other end of the block. You look up with sorrowful eyes to the heavens and nearly debate going back inside to buy an umbrella or something, when a familiar pick up stops outside the doors. The window rolls down and you see Eridan leaning towards it. He smiles and holds up your phone, “Good thing you program how long your hours are into your phone, huh Dave? I wasn’t really lookin’ forward to loiterin’ outside the hall of your apartment.”

“Jesus Christ in heaven, you are a godsend.” You dash over to the truck and climb inside as fast as you can. He’s laughing and rolling up the window. You’re sprinkled with rainwater but you don’t give a damn. Without a phone you were fucked, really, despite the random freedom it made you feel. You wouldn’t have been able to call anyone for a lift, not that any of your fuck buddies would have been available. Sollux had told you about his weekend marathoning of some game or another, so he was out. The rest of your buddies either didn’t have a car, Porrim, or were still mad at you for the last time you were in theirs with them, Terezi, or were busy most nights and couldn’t come to your rescue, Aradia and Feferi.

But Eridan was turning out to be a really choice friend, after all. For thanks, you give him a peck on the cheek. He gives you that charming, slightly blushing smile, and says, “Want me to take you to your apartment?”

“Please,” you say that with a lot more feeling than you intend. “I need to take a shower and hopefully find something decent in my fridge to eat. It’s been a hell of a day, Eridan.” You lean back in your seat, closing your eyes. “It’s been a hell of a week, actually.”

“The phone wasn’t the only thing you left behind at my home,” Eridan says, “You left the book I bought you.”

“What?” you look up. “Fuck. I did, didn’t I. You didn’t happen to remember that- Oh Eridan I could just fuck you with pleasure.”

His whole damn face turns red at that, while you fish the book out of the bag again. You really like the look of this. Hell, maybe you’ll take a page out of your mom’s habits and read while in the bath! There wasn’t any reason not to, after all. Eridan remains silent for a while before he, awkwardly, clears his throat and says, “Are you feelin’ better? I mean since this mornin’ has anythin’ changed.”

“Eh,” you think of Rose and her warning. You think of Nepeta and her perky breasts. You think of Vriska and her blue smile. “It could be worse I guess. How was your day?”

All at once, whatever’s left of his fading blush vanishes as he frowns deeply. “It was a fuckin’ waste a time, money an’ brain power. The asshole we’ve got helpin’ with the data transfer fucked up three a the four columns and I had to spend three hours just fixin’ all his shitty mistakes an’ when I went to talk to my fuckin’ advisor about him, he just rolls his eyes an’ tells me I’m bein’ too exactin’ on the assfucker.” Eridan practically snarls, smacking the steering wheel with one hand. His next few words are in a mocking tone of what you can only assume is his advisor.

“You’re bein’ too hard on him. Cut him some slack! I remember when you were a newbie just like him, what would you have done if your superiors yelled at you huh?” Eridan seethes, “I fuckin’ tell you what I woulda done. I woulda yelled back a them, cause when I was where he is now I didn’t make any fuckin’ simple mistakes like that. If you’re gonna go an’ fuck up, you might as well go for fuckin’ broke. Go fuckin’ big or go the fuck home, ain’t no damn reason why he should halfass his work so completely an’ then beg me to change it. I got shit to do, Dave, I don’t have fuckin’ time to babysit him or nitpick every damn line he writes down!

“I would have kicked him off the damn program in a fuckin’ heartbeat if it was up to me. There’s a half dozen other applicants I could find to take his fuckin’ place.”

You’ve discovered, throughout this ranting, that when Eridan becomes aggressive in conversation, his whole body follows suit. He accelerates when he’s already going the speed limit. He breaks sharply, making your seatbelt cut into your neck a few times. He grips the steering wheel like it’s personally offended him. It’s strangely entrancing.

He’s like a dragon, coiled up in a man’s body, with gnashing teeth and flashing eyes. He moves jerkily, expressing his distaste in spitting words and flicks of his hand. You spend most of this time listening in silence while he rants and raves, realizing only when it’s too late that you’ve transformed this beast in the truck to one in bed. You kind of want him to fuck you like that, breathing fire down on you as he pins you down, gripping you like he was the leather of the wheel. You can only imagine the force of his hips with the way his arm jabs the air while he makes his points.

Before you know it, you’ve got a serious fucking problem in your pants. You put your gifted bag on your lap and pray that he won’t find out. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, as he’s taken your question about his day to hell and beyond. Eventually he’s parked on the street outside your apartment and he heaves a heavy sigh. You think he’s about to say goodbye, or, and this is more of a fantasy than anything, that it’s time for you to take off your pants and calm the beast, but instead he pushes up his glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Damn,” he moans and you bite the inside of your cheek, “I could really go for shootin things right the fuck now.”

“Er. What?”

He looks at you for the first time in a while. “Have you ever fired a high powered rifle on a bad fuckin’ day?”

You shake your head, “But there’s a first time for everything.”

He laughs. “How about you go up, shower, get some food or some shit and I’ll meet you back here in, say, forty five?”

“Make it thirty and you’ve got a deal.”

He nods. “A deal it is, then.” You’re unbuckling and about to get out of the car and into the rain—it’s much lighter now than it was—when he does the unexpected. Eridan leans over and kisses your cheek. You only remember him doing that once before, and then it had been so light you almost didn’t believe it happened. This, however, is a solid fucking kiss on the cheek. You even feel his nose press against your skin a little, and you definitely feel a little bit of breath from an exhale. Your heart flips in your chest. Your cock jerks in your pants. You’re three seconds from turning and kissing him as desperately as you can, when he pulls back. The door unlocks with a thunk sound. “Thirty minutes, Dave. Don’t be late.”

You flash him a smile and slip out of the truck quickly.

The mad dash through the rain feels unnecessary, but fucking fun as hell. However, the elevator ride up to your floor, with two old ladies standing in front of you talking about some shit is almost unbearable. You run to your door, finally, and tear into your apartment. You barely get the door shut behind you and don’t even fuck with the lights. You head straight to the bathroom, and the shower.

All you have to do is stand with your pants off, thinking about those flashing blue eyes and strong fucking hands on you and you’re gone down that beautiful spiral of a really, really nice orgasm. You come down off the high with a delighted smile and hardly a mess to clean up. You turn the water on and only laugh when you realize you’re still wearing your shirt and socks. It doesn’t matter one single fucking bit at all.

It’s your second night in a row spent with Eridan, and right now, that was the only damn thing that mattered to you at all.


	7. In Every Passing Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave does really really well.  
> And then he fucks it all up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild Dub-con in this one, towards the end.

You’re stepping out of the apartment building at the same time that he comes up the road and pulls off. The rain has lessened somewhat, so you don’t have to run to the car for fear of getting drenched. You hop in to the truck and are surprised to see the grin on Eridan’s face. Sure he did little smiles here and there but this was a flat out grin of excitement. “God,” he says, “I haven’t gone shootin’ in such a long time. This is goin’ to be fuckin’ amazin’, just you wait an’ see, Dave.”

His excitement is infectious. You smile back, “I think the last time I went shooting was in my teens with my Bro. We drove out into the middle of nowhere, took us hours to get properly isolated, and he lined up rows upon rows of cans and we shot them down all day. When we got bored of shooting, we would toss them at each other and cut them with the swords. On the way back in to town, we stopped at this tiny little diner and had three servings of pie each.” You sigh in fondness of the memory, “It was a really damn good day.”

“Sounds like it,” you can hear the warmth in his tone. It makes you look over to see him driving, eyes on the road and everything, with a smile that crinkled around his eyes. “My father took my brother and I campin’ once, an’ we went huntin’ on that trip too. We had rabbit that night. I was the one who shot it down. Dad was so fuckin’ proud a me, he woulda made little rabbits feet out a it if a raccoon hadn’t snatched away the carcass from under our noses.” He laughs. “I was so damn proud a that though. I told kids about it at school for weeks after.”

His words stir up old memories of high school. Rumors drifting around in the under currents of your social group, rumors about some kid who went out and actually shot and killed poor helpless little creatures. You hadn’t cared, why the fuck _should_ you care? Except for the fact that it upset John when Rose teased him over it and how he’d felt bad for the poor little bunny, you probably wouldn’t have anything to remember the event by at all. “Eridan?”

“Hm?” He glances to you momentarily before looking back to the road.

“Did you grow up here, in this city?”

“For some of my life, yes.” He made a turn down some street you don’t really recognize. It looked like these streets were lined with shops, equipment places that you never had to use or go to. You didn’t really know where you were anymore. “I moved here just before my freshman year.  Why?”

“Eh, no reason.” You sort of remember hearing about him in highschool now. Rumors of rumors, you suppose. Though a lot of kids came in and out every year, not every one of them was rumored to be likely to bring a gun to school and shoot everyone. You check out Eridan’s profile. So this was the man that kid grew up into, huh? Well, he could have done a hell of a lot worse. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Shootin’ range, a course. Mostly cops an’ the like use it, so it tends to be open late, but it’s technically opened to the public. They’ll let you shoot whatever you’ve got as long as you bring the ammo an’ wear protection over your ears.” Eridan pulls off the road in front of what could just be a warehouse, for all you know.

You laugh internally at the idea of Eridan being a serial killer, luring you out into isolated locations to have his way with you and it makes you laugh aloud too. He hardly needed to do that to get you into bed, if that was the case. Eridan gives you a strange look and you wave it off. “So what did you bring to shoot?”

His face lights up like a woman being asked about her angel childe. “Her name is Betty, an’ you are goin’ to _love_ her.”

* * *

_Crack! Crack-crack-crack-crack-crackcrack-crack!_

Her name is Betty.

_Crack! Crackcrack-crackcrack-crack! Crack! Crack!_

And you love her.

You don’t love her because of the way she feels or the sound she makes or because of the way- even with your shitty aim- she tears through the paper target like it’s not even there. You love her because of the way Eridan looks holding her. The look on his face is sheer concentration. Utter focus that’s narrowed to the gun and the target.

You love her because of the way Eridan stands close to you, helping you position her, how his fingers brush against your cheek, your arm, how his hand curls around yours to show you how to hold her properly. You love her because she makes him whisper in your ear, to _feel_ the weight, to _breathe_ evenly, to _grip_ and _squeeze_ and he puts his hand on the small of your back as he whispers to you.

You love her because when he shows you how to shoot her, he stands next to you like a lover, like a fucking boyfriend would, and not like just some friend.

You love her because she brings him closer to you than he stands on his own and that makes your heart pound in your chest so damn hard.

You love her because it’s safer to say you love Eridan’s rifle than it is to say you love Eridan himself.

And because when you express your absolute adoration of his weapon, he beams with pride you’ve only seen in someone like John’s father. Just this once, remembering John doesn’t hurt. You think that stays more than anything else.

You’re a mess of gratitude and lust and infatuation and admiration, of pride and fear and desire and uncertainty. You’re a mess of all these things and more, and Eridan doesn’t even seem to notice it. He just shoots his guns, teaches you to shoot his guns and laughs brightly, like the whole world is actually an awesome place. Which it isn’t. At all.

If it was, then these little booths would have doors and you’d have your pants around your ankles and when Eridan told you to squeeze, it wouldn’t be some trigger he was talking about. If it was, you would know exactly what to say to get into his pants, again and again and again. If it was, you wouldn’t be helpless to change what was going on around you and you would actually be able to tell him how you felt without fear. If the world was an awesome place, you could tell him how you feel and not be afraid that he would call you a liar.

But the truth was you didn’t know how to take a step forward without pushing you both back two steps instead. The world was only kind of an okay place, because at least you had Eridan in the first place, even if you didn’t know how to keep him like you wanted to.

You stay shooting there with him for a good hour or three. It’s unlike you to lose track of the time, but Eridan has that effect on you- or at least occupying your mind to try and not think about him inappropriately had that effect on you. Your aim improves, but it’s nothing compared to his. It’s clear to you that he does this a lot, and the way he talks about it, he does it to relieve stress, to feel good about himself and just because he loves to shoot guns.

When Eridan finally packs everything up, he’s smiling, relaxed, but you’ve just traded your troubles at work with troubles of the heart. You can think of one thing to solve that, though, and you’ve got plenty of that in your fridge at home.

“Thanks for comin’ out with me,” He says, smiling still. “Some people just don’t like guns much.”

“Betty is a hell of a gun,” You’re thinking about the way he told you, softly, to squeeze the trigger. You don’t recall ever watching any porn that starts in a shooting range, but you think that really should change. You wish he was willing to help you film it, if you couldn’t happen to find any yourself. “Hey, Eridan?”

“Yes?” He loads his guns in the truck without complaint, like he’s done it a thousand times. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you.

“Want to come to my place tonight? You’ve been letting me come over to yours, so why not let me return the favor.” You put your hands in your pockets, feeling oddly like a teenager asking over his first date. When he doesn’t react at first, you add in a hopeful voice, “Please? Just to talk for a bit? To make up for when I passed out on you yesterday.”

He shrugs his shoulders and closes the box where he keeps his guns in the bed of his truck. He pops a lock on it and climbs down out of the bed of the truck. “Okay. But do you have real food in your house or is it all that frozen shit I saw you buyin’ at the store. Cause I’m starved as shit and I’m not in the mood for the shitty pizza I saw you gettin’.”

A relieved sigh goes unnoticed past your lips, “Sure we can find something. Maybe not some of those vegetables you were cooking at your place. No pizza for Prince Eridan, got it.”

“It isn’t that I don’t like pizza, Dave,” He says, climbing into the truck. You hurry around to the other side and climb in. Instead of sitting on the end, you decide to buckle up in the middle. You’ll probably be regretting it later, but for now you wanted to be close to him. He arches an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything against it. “I just like good pizza. Fresh dough for the bread, good tomatoes, fresh cheese, maybe a little spinach from a garden an some thinly sliced pepperoni right from the link.”

“Have you had pizza like that before?”

“Yeah, once.” His smile faded into a frown. The silence drags on. He drives smoothly, unlike he was before with the aggression or the excitement. You reach out a hand cautiously on his arm when the two of you are sitting at a red light. He glances over and shrugs off your hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

You’re getting some seriously cold vibes from him, like this really is a thing he doesn’t want to talk about, but that just makes you want to know more. Because you’re craving more than just fucking him, you’re craving to know what’s in his head, and what was in his past. You want all the little details about him and woah, _woah_ , **_woah_** _._

What the _fuck_ are you going with that thought? You twist your hands in your lap and you shake your head at yourself. You can want to fuck him. You can even let yourself say you’re in love with him. But all this other shit. Wanting to be near him. Wanting to know more about him. The _fuck_ are you thinking?

“Dave?”

You look up, blinking quickly, “Yeah?”

“Don’t ever surprise me with pizza.”

“What? Okay. Weird, but okay.” You look out the window and as you see a convenience store you grab his arm, “Hey wait, can you pull over here? I need to buy more apple juice.”

“What? Sure.” He turns off the main road and into the parking lot. You unbuckle in a hurry and slide across to the door.

“I’ll be right back, Eridan.” You hurry out of the truck and into the store. The rain has returned, but it’s a light drizzle that is more like a mist than anything else. You hurry into the building and head straight to the drink isle. You grab one of those big bottles of apple juice and decide to spice up your evening with a bottle of vodka as well. The cashier cards you, but you don’t give a fuck. You get both bottles into a bag and hurry back into the truck.

Eridan’s fiddling with his phone when you get back in. This time you don’t sit in the middle, but go back to the door, putting your bag on the floor. He glances up and gives you a strained smile. “Something wrong?” you ask.

“Bad memories,” he replies softly, pulling back onto the roads. “You know when you feel like talkin’ to someone, but all your info on them is outta date, so you just look at your phone willin’ it to somehow get their new number, just so you can say hi?”

“Uh, that’s oddly specific.” You reach over to pick up his phone, “Who are you trying to talk to?”

Eridan snatches it up and gives you a nasty glare for your curiosity. “No one. I should just delete her info from my phone entirely, I really should.” He puts it away into his pocket and turns his glare towards the road.

“Huh,” You keep quiet for a minute, as your first instinct is not to press for more information. But this was Eridan, your _friend_ , not one of your fuck buddies, and wasn’t asking what was up one of those things that friends did? “Is this about the pizza thing?”

He sighs, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that something as simple as pizza was so triggering.” You try to be sarcastic, but you just come out annoyed. Which is the wrong tone, because Eridan’s lip pulls back in a sneer.

“Your ignorance would be appallin’ except for the fact that I think you pride yourself in not knowin’ shit about people.”

“People need their privacy,” You find yourself frowning back. What happened to that beautiful mood at the gun range? “And if I were to dig into people’s pasts, I don’t think I’d have any friends at all. We’ve all got shit we would rather not share, we were all fifteen once.” You’re suddenly reminded of what Rose mentioned to you this morning. “Should I know everything about you before deciding you’re my friend? Some would say yeah, and add that I shouldn’t be friends with you, based on the things that may or may not be in your past. But what the hell is friendship for if _not_ to learn things and make new experiences with people?”

You’re looking at Eridan, and talking about him, but in the back of your mind is the memory of John. “I haven’t had a good friend in fucking years, Eridan, and that’s because having friends means people find out shit about you, over time, and build memories with you. Because having friends means people know who the fuck you are inside, and when you’re happy or sad. I might not know what you’re upset about, why pizza makes you want to strangle your steering wheel, but I can tell you are upset. Does it matter that I don’t know what it is? Maybe? I don’t know.

“What I do know is that you can tell me what it is, or you can keep it a secret from me, and in either case I still am your friend.” You reach out across the seat and touch his arm, “Because you were right. You were right last night when you said I didn’t care about me. I don’t give two fucks about what I do or who I am as long as I get my needs taken care of. But I am your friend, Eridan, and I care about you.”

The car is stopped, at a light, when you finish saying that. Eridan turns to look at you and you can see his teeth biting at his lower lip. “Dave…”

“So, sorry about the pizza, and the phone. I just want to know who the people are that upset you so I can punch them in the face, that’s all.” You shrug, because it’s the truth, and because you don’t know how else to end this weird geyser of words. You’re about to turn away again, because you’re feeling a little embarrassed at just admitting that to him, but he grips your elbow and pulls. You’re leaning in and before you can realize what is happening, Eridan’s mouth is over yours and he’s kissing you like his life depends on it.

That ferocity you saw earlier, channeled into his anger and into his shooting, is in that kiss. It steals away your breath, your thoughts, your inhibitions. You moan when he bites your lower lip and he chuckles softly. Your blood is on fire and it’s all going to your cock.

He only stops when the car behind starts honking. The light’s turned green and he turns his attention to the road. You have to put your hands on the seat between you two to steady yourself, before you sit back in your corner, lightheaded and confused as fuck. He sounds like he’s sucking down deep lungfulls of air. His face is red and his eyes wide.

You keep quiet, because the only thing you can think of to say is probably what is going through his mind right now as well. _What the **fuck** just happened?_

The rest of the drive is silent. You sit with one hand in your lap, the other over your mouth, and he doesn’t look away from the road once. When he’s parked outside of your apartment building, you two continue to sit in silence.

“I know that…” he clears his throat, “I know that I said I would come inside.” You shiver at the words because you are _not_ thinking about him going into your apartment at _all_. “But in light a what happened, perhaps it’s best if… we part ways here.”

You lick your lips. You can pretend that you can taste him still, but you really can’t. You want to kiss him again and again, though, until you do. Until he’s all you can taste. “Yeah, sure, if you think you can’t control yourself then maybe it is best if you take the coward’s way out.”

“I am not a-,” He snaps his mouth shut. You look at him and he glares at you and you know you’ve won. You don’t think he’s really fighting you, though, not really. “Fine. Let’s go see what’s in your fucked up excuse for a fridge.”

That’s how the two of you end up riding an elevator up to your apartment, with Betty slung across his shoulders because he’ll be damned if he leaves his favorite rifle out in his truck for however the fuck long he stays over. It’s more than obvious to you that there’s something going on with him, though, because he keeps his distance from you now like he didn’t at the range. There’s a good two feet of space between you two while you stand in the elevator and he follows you a few steps back instead of walking with you when you go to your apartment.

It pisses you off. You’re finally getting somewhere good with him and he starts acting like you’ve got some ridiculously contagious disease. You almost slam the door in his face instead of letting him in when he keeps that two feet of space as you unlock the door and go inside your apartment.

You don’t, though, you let him come inside and instead lock the door behind him. He looks around your front hall curiously. “These aren’t just for decoration,” he says suddenly, pointing to the swords on your wall, “Right? I mean I was fuckin’ around with them earlier, but I don’t know if you do.”

“I do.” You say, kicking off your shoes, “Or I guess I used to. I don’t seem to have the time for it now so they just gather dust. Want a drink?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He follows you into the kitchen. You put your new bottle of apple juice in the fridge and pull out the cold one inside. He glances into your fridge and says, “Hell of a lot of apple juice there. And beer. Do you drink anythin’ else?”

“Vodka,” you say, pulling the bottle out of the bag. “And water. Is there something I should be drinking?”

“Milk,” he says, “For calcium.”

“My bones are just fine.” You snap. Your voice came out louder than you wanted it to. The two of you end up staring at each other in silence for a while before he says.

“Poor the damn drinks, Dave. Let me see if there’s anythin’ salvageable so we don’t bite each other’s heads of in our hunger.” With that said, Eridan puts Betty down in a corner and rolls up his sleeves. He systematically searches through your cupboards and fridge, pulling out an assortment of items. You keep your mouth shut, getting out a little ice and mixing the vodka and apple juice into tall glasses.

In a couple of minutes, he’s got something cooking on the stove and he stands by it, holding his glass in one hand.

You take a deep breath, to calm yourself a little more, and ask, “So are we just not going to talk about what happened there or what?”

Eridan’s glass clinks with the ice in the water. He doesn’t look up at you as he says, “It was my fault. I got carried away.”

“Yeah, I fucking get that it was your fault, but what the hell happened? Why did it happen?” And most importantly of all, why didn’t it keep on happening?

“Usually it takes a while,” he says the words slowly, like he has to really think hard about what to say. “Takes a while for me to… Takes a while for people to decide to be my friend back. Hell, I had to take Kanaya out for almost a year before she put my number in her phone. I was walkin’ a thin line with her for a long time afterwards too. It doesn’t just happen as easily as you made it sound.”

He shakes his head, “Not that you made it sound very easy, I mean.” He groans and runs a hand through his hair. You like the way that it makes his hair stick out at a wild angle. You want to tuck his hair back into place and mess it up further at the same time. “Havin’ a real friend for the first time in years, I hadn’t even considered what that might be like for you. I didn’t think you’d be so fuckin’ acceptin’ a me so readily. I’m a fuckin’ asshole an’ I know that you know people who have shit on me.

“That isn’t to say that I don’t know you want to fuck me. You’ve made that pretty fuckin’ clear, so I thought we’d be pushin’ at the boundaries for a while, tryin’ to settle them? An’ I guess in a way we are, I just--,” he suddenly stopped. “I’m not makin’ any sense am I?”

You shake your head. You don’t care though. You like to hear him talk. “Let’s get back to the kiss in the truck. Why did you do it?”

“I,” he hesitates. He looks up at you and you’ve never seen such a helpless expression, “I couldn’t not do it. What you said really … it struck me. An’ it felt like sayin’ I was grateful just wouldn’t be enough.”

You ponder this for a while, chewing on an ice cube. “So that was a gratitude kiss?”

You watch him as he thinks about it. You can almost read his thoughts on his face, he’s such an open book. He glances to the side and chews on his bottom lip like he knows if he just says yes, you’ll probably give up on the topic. But was yes the truth? That was the question.

“It sort of,” he hisses out the words, “started out that way.” He turns to stir the pan, not looking at you at all. You let the silence develop; thinking about what he’s said so far.

You take a couple of big gulps from your glass before putting it down. You walk across the room to Eridan’s side. He looks up at you, blue eyes narrowed in uncertainty. When you lean in, it takes him a second or two to start leaning back. You’ve got him pinned against the counter, just by standing there, but he doesn’t complain. “You know I want to fuck you,” the word seems cruder then usual when you’re standing this close to him, like it’s tearing at the intimacy you’ve got going on. “But I also want to be your friend, Eridan. Now, I see a solution to that problem. A solution that utterly terrifies me, I’ll admit, because I never thought I would do it, or at least not while I was this young. I didn’t think that I was ready for but for you?”

You watch as he sucks in a sharp breath at your question. His eyes don’t look away from yours once. He lifts his hand to about chest level, but if that’s to push you away or pull you closer you’re not sure since it just hovers there.

“For you, I think I might be.”

“Dave,” his fingertips glance across your chest.

You take a couple of steps back. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. What the hell are you saying? It has to be the alcohol in your system. But you couldn’t possibly have gotten drunk that quickly, could you have? “Just, just think about it Eridan. Won’t you?”

He lifts his own glass with a shaking hand and drains the cup a lot quicker than you thought he could. He puts it down sharply and nods his head, once. “Right. Think about it. Okay.”

You don’t know what makes you more nervous and sick to your stomach, that he will say fuck no to you and you’ll be stuck pining after him like a love-struck asshole or that he will say yes, and then demand you change immediately. You’re beginning to think that you’re crazy for suggesting this. You’ve known him for what, two weeks? Are you really going to change your entire lifestyle because of him, because of this? Because you want him more than you want to be able to have sex with anyone who wants it?

You’re startled out of your thoughts by Eridan’s hand on your chest. You look up and realize you didn’t hear him walk over to you at all. “Dave,” he’s saying softly, “calm down. Breathe for a second, all right? You look pale as fuck.” He ushers you into a chair and frowns at you. “I’m going to need longer than tonight think about this, about what you’re suggestin’, so just calm yourself the fuck down.” He goes back to the stove, “how about a week. Let me think about this for a week, all right?”

You pour yourself more alcohol and apple juice. “Yeah sure, a week.” That gives you time to come to your senses, hopefully. “Not another week like this one, though, right?”

Eridan laughs, “No. I think it would be best if we just kept our communication online for a while, or maybe a few phone calls.” It takes you a moment to realize he’s relaxed. He smiles a little while he asks you where you keep your bowls. You point to the cupboard and he gets them out. He’s made you minute rice with peas, carrots and some hamburger. It isn’t really that fancy, but it tastes damn good to your empty stomach. He sits with you at the table, eating quietly with his eyes downcast.

“This is good,” you can’t keep sitting in silence with this asshole. Next thing you know you’ll be babbling and then kissing or, worse, staring at him and imagining things that will make it impossible for you to hide how fucking desperate you are to fuck him.

“I was pleasantly surprised by what I found in your fridge,” he replies, “This hamburger isn’t that old at all.”

“My sister was here earlier today, when she shows up she tends to bring things and rearrange things to see if I’ll notice. The food, though, that’s probably a delivery from my mother via her.”

“Heh. Well I’m glad you have someone to fuss over your eatin’ habits so I don’t become sort of fucked up fatherly role to you.”

“I don’t know,” you say pseudo-seriously, “I think that’s exactly the kind of extra dynamic we need to our fucked up little friendship party, don’t you?”

He laughs, “Do not expect me to start reprimandin’ you to clean up after yourself and make sure you get to bed on time. I had enough shit from my strict upbringin’ I don’t need to start dishin’ it out to friends. Besides, I didn’t figure you were into that sorta shit.”

You lean in and waggle your eyebrows at him.

“Fuckin’ hell, Dave, please tell me you’re not serious!”

You laugh, “No, I’m not serious, I swear. You’re just too easy to fuck with.” He joins your friendly laughter, shaking his head a little. When he finishes eating, Eridan stands and holds his hand out for your bowl. He collects the dishes and puts them all in your dishwasher while you sit on the cupboard next to him. As he finishes up, you lean in at one opportune moment and kiss his cheek. He flushes a terrific scarlet color and gapes at you. “Thank you for the food and for doing the dishes, again.”

He grumbles something about how it’s second nature to him to clean up and then waves his hand at you to tell you to get off the counter. You hop down and are immediately struck with an enormous yawn. You had no idea you were this tired, though the alcohol and the food probably didn’t help.

With a nice buzz, you put your arm companionably around Eridan’s shoulders and say, “Would you like the bed or the couch, my friend, because I saw how much you drank and you are not driving home.”

“Bed,” he says immediately. “And I want to shower too.”

“Sure. Just borrow whatever of mine will fit you.” You point out which rooms are which and send him off on his way while you get a couple of extra sheets to set up on the futon.

Barely two minutes after he goes into your room to find clothing, Eridan calls for you. You walk into the room and stop dead in your tracks. Eridan’s standing beside your bedframe, where your mattress usually goes and is holding a lilac colored piece of paper. You push your glasses up as you rub your eyes with your hands. That fucking little bitch.

“It says that you know what to do to get this back. There’s no name.” Eridan walks over, handing you the note. “Your sister I’m guessin’?”

“You’d be right. Ugh. I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize. I haven’t been in my room all day.” You feel like an asshole now. “You can have the futon.”

A flicker of something flashes across Eridan’s face as he squares his shoulders, “I think we can be adults enough to share it.”

You stare at him and then continue to stare at him long after he’s begun to turn slightly pink in the ears and he’s looking anywhere but at you. “Yeah. Yeah. Sure.” You grin, “Share like adults. Totally. We are completely capable of that.”

He narrows his gaze at you and then mutters something about assholes and their touchy hands. You laugh because fuck _yes_. Rose has just given you exactly what she wanted you to give up. You go finish making the futon ready to sleep on while Eridan goes and showers.

He comes back about twenty minutes later with damp hair curling around his ears and wearing one of your really old shirts. It’s that red and white record one you used to wear all the time in highschool when you were about fifty pounds heavier than you are now. After highschool you cut the sleeves off of it, not wanting the long sleeves anymore, so it fits Eridan’s broad shoulders just fine. You’re waiting on the futon already, stripped down to your boxers and under the sheet.

You’re a hell of a lot more tired than before, once you’re in bed with almost all the lights off and lying on your back. Eridan flicks off the last lights in the apartment, the ones from the hallway, and joins you on the futon. He lies on his side, facing away from you.

You’re not offended, because you saw his uncertain expression as he climbed under the sheets. Your heart is racing in your chest as you reach out your hand and touch his back. He tenses, but when you don’t do anything else, he relaxes again. After a while he rolls onto his back and gives you a tired smile.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, keeping your hand resting on his chest.

He puts his hand over yours, “G’night, Dave.”

You try to keep your eyes open for as long as you can, because you might never get a chance to do this again. Even if you do, this is the first time and that was special. It was with Eridan and it was special. Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest you think it could explode right out of your ribcage and it was so fucking special.

You went to sleep trying to figure out how to stop time.

* * *

You wake slowly, partially, inch by inch, bit by bit, because there’s a hand on your chest going to your stomach going to your crotch and it’s moving at just the right pace to keep you mostly asleep and yet fully able to feel its effects. It’s when the hand gets stuck, fumbling with your boxers like it just can’t find the way in that you finally fucking wake up. It’s still early in the morning so the only light you get is from the street lamps outside your living room window.

It takes you about thirty seconds to understand what is going on. You have Eridan pressed up against your back, essentially spooning you, and you didn’t realize before how fucking perfectly sized he is for that. You can feel his nose and forehead pressed against your neck, and the back of your head. You can feel his warm breath on your neck and it makes you shiver. His arm is under your head, a pretty fucking nice pillow in fact, and you can tell by the little bit of drool you feel on your cheek and on his skin that it’s probably been there a while.

However, it’s his other hand that has got you pretty fucking excited. It’s right on top of your cock, rubbing at it, in fact through your boxers. He’s managed to get his thumb stuck in the waist band, but nothing else past that. When you turn your head to look back at him, all you see is the corner of his jaw and his ear. You can feel how even his breathing is and so you lie there, feeling his hand’s infrequent attempts at groping you and realize that he was still fucking asleep.

He was _still fucking asleep_.

He was groping you _in his sleep_.

And he had the fucking nerve to call you the handy asshole. When he woke up you were going to—oh _fuck._

While you were still stunned over the realization that he was a horny motherfucker in his sleep, he shifted his whole body just a little closer, just a little more against you and now you not only feel him breathing, and his hand on your junk, but his fingers in your damn hair and, most importantly, his cock half hard against your ass.

You had three options. Go back to sleep, wake him up, or do something about this situation.

There was no way in hell you were going to fall asleep with his hand nearly down your pants. If you woke him up you would probably have to deal with him embarrassed, humiliated and ashamed of himself, which would mean he would leave you and possibly avoid you for days on end, phone calls and texts included.

But if you took care of the situation…

“Nnnh, ‘ave…” A shiver raises the hair on the back of your neck.

You bite your lip and slide your hand down. You grip his wrist and guide his hand where it needs to go, inside of your boxers. You try to muffle the little grunt of pleasure you give when his fingers find your cock. With his hand in place, you reach yours back, trying to get it between his body and yours. Even asleep he must get where the fuck you’re going because there’s a grumbled, “Don’ you fuckin’…” and he pushes his hips harder against your backside, making it difficult for your hand to move into place.

You try again and he fucking _growls_ into your ear, “No.”

So you give up on trying and instead put your hand down with his in your pants. He’s still fumbling with his sleepy hand job, so you help him out by putting your hand over his. You can’t seem to make him move any faster than he is, though, and every time you push for more there’s that growling against your neck that makes you shudder.

“C’mon,” you groan softly, “Faster. Please?”

It’s like your words are a trigger, because the next thing you know, those fingers twisting lightly through your hair dig in suddenly and hold tight. You can’t move your head without pulling your hair in his fist. You hiss in complaint but then you feel his mouth on your neck, just under your jaw, and your breath catches in your throat.

His words are mumbled against your skin, so for the first few tries you can’t figure out what it is he’s saying. But then he says right below your ear, “Mine,” and you shudder. You can’t really help it at all. His hand is holding your head and the other is moving steadily up and down your cock and the next thing you know his mumbling lips are kissing down your neck and then-

Son of a bitch he’s _biting_ you. Biting hard enough that it hurts more than anything, but as soon as he stops the aching mixes with the hickeys he gives you and his rubbing fingers and it begins to feel good. You’re aching in different places and it all feels fucking fantastic. Somewhere along the line you begin to grind back against him and you only realize it when one time you grind your ass against him and feel a hard cock there instead of a half-hard one.

You’re pretty sure he bites you at least twice more, but it all becomes the same dull ache in your neck that makes your pounding heartbeat echo in more places than your chest and your cock. Trying to control his actions is futile, because he just twists your hair or declares “mine” at you. You keep trying, but only up until the point where you realize you’re pretty damn close to cumming, so you just throw yourself into feeling good.

You end up clenching your teeth tightly to keep from screaming in pleasure as you climax. You squeeze your eyes tightly enough that you see spots afterwards because it’s a hell of a lot better than the last couple of times you’ve climaxed. Considering those last few times were you masturbating or with Vriska, well, that’s not really a fucking surprise now is it?

There’s a period of afterglow, where you’re lying relaxed as can be. But Eridan’s still hard behind you and his hands are still all over you.

It takes a little wriggling around, but soon enough you’ve got yourself facing him. His hand is still in your hair, but his other is on your back now. He grumbles softly and leans in. His eyes flutter a few times, but go still again soon enough. Tentatively, you reach your hand down Eridan’s front to his pants. You have to pull a tie loose before you can slip your hand in under his boxers. When you manage it, the fingers in your hair tighten again.

You get your hand around his cock and begin to pump your hand up and down, using your own cum as lubricant. You bite your lip, watching his face as you do this. You’ve done it a dozen times or more, but all with people either too drunk to be coherent or too coherent to show what they were really feeling on their faces. Across Eridan’s sleepy face, and yes, his eyes have begun to open a little now, everything flashes. Pleasure when you hold him right, urgency when you go too slowly. You even manage to figure out and identify what the feeling of possession looks like on his face, because he hisses that “mine” phrase more than once, each time tugging on your hair. After the first one, you start answering him softly, just to see how he reacts.

“Mine,” he grits out between those teeth that bit you so many times. “Yes, all yours,” you reply to him. He sucks in a deep breath. He digs his nails into your scalp, into your back.

“Mine,” he says it harder, eyes opening a little more. He looks at you and you look back and whisper, “Yes, all yours.”

“Mine,” he bares his teeth like he’s going to bite you again, on the mouth or the cheek or your uninjured side of neck. You’re leaning in, staring into those sleepy blue eyes and saying things you can’t even admit to yourself, “All yours, forever.”

You can’t, and honestly don’t really try, to stop yourself from putting your arm around his neck and pulling him in for a needy, desperate kiss. You’ve got your tongue in his mouth when you feel him orgasm, his body tensing, back arching, the groan being pulled out of him like it fucking hurts him.

When you pull back from the kiss, his hand finally untangles from your hair and you feel like your fucking flying. It was good, not just your climax, but making him have his. It was good and you want to do it for weeks, months, years, hell maybe even for-fucking-ever like you said. You’re mad for Eridan, crazed like a junkie strung out, like a zombie out for brains, like a drowning man was for land. You’re fucking trapped, snatched up like kids in a candy house, and there was no fucking way out.

You knew this was true because you saw it, and at the same time, realized that you didn’t even care, not a single bit. You were his and you actually wanted it to be that way.

All of your euphoria, however, comes crashing down around you when you felt the futon move beside you and heard Eridan’s shaking voice, “What the fuck did you do, Dave.”

You blink and look up at him. He’s staring down at you and the expression he has is probably the closest one you’ve seen to true horrified disgust. He looks at his hands, then at you. You can feel his eyes on your body and the red bite marks on your neck. He puts his clean hand over his mouth and shakes his head. There’s shame there too and the guilt that floods you almost makes you throw up right there. You sit up quickly, “I’m sorry. I can explain.”

He shoves his hand at you, the one with your cum on it, and the only reason he’s not shouting is because his hand is over his mouth. “You can explain this? You can explain how the fuckin’ hell there’s your fuckin’ cum on my goddamn hand?”

“Eridan,” you hesitate, because it sounds really fucking crazy in your head.

He keeps quiet for a second, waiting for you, before narrowing his eyes, “I’m fuckin’ waitin’.”

So you, slowly, wincing from time to time tell him what happened. How you woke up, why you chose to continue, what he did in his sleep, what you heard him said, and then with a flush burning your cheeks so hot it hurts, you tell him what you said in reply.

As you tell him everything, his face goes really fucking pale. At the end he’s not looking at you anymore, but down at his hands gripping the sheet. He stays silent for a few minutes and then whispers, “I thought it was a fuckin’ dream.”

“Oh.” You think about this for a moment. A dream? Was he used to having dreams like that of you? “ _Oh._ ”

The glare he uses on you actually makes you recoil. “I still can’t fuckin’ believe that you would think it was okay to do that with my fuckin’ hand. I can’t fuckin’ believe you thought any a that was okay!” He runs his clean hand through his hair and growls at himself, “I can’t believe _I_ thought that sleepin’ in the same bed as you was goin’ to result in anythin’ but fuckin’ sex dreams an’  you bein’ the sex crazed little whore you are.”

“Eridan,” you don’t even care that he’s called you a whore. Because you certainly feel like one right now, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was only thinking about-,”

“Don’t even fuckin’ go there. You were thinkin’ with your cock again an’ fuckin’ our shit up.” He throws back the sheets and looks at himself in disgust. “Why the fuck have you got to go an’ do shit like that? What the fuck is wrong with you?” He gets up from the futon, pulling up his pants –your borrowed pants- up and tightening them. “I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it, I fuckin’ knew it. Kan was right, Tav was right, Ara was right they were all fuckin’ _right_ , this was a bad as hell idea.”

Even if the world opened up beneath you and you fell continuously to your death for a thousand fucking years, you don’t think you could feel as awful as you do right now. “Wait,” your voice sounds so tiny, so tiny and fragile. In your own ears you sound like you’re ten years old again and your father is walking out of the house never to come back. You couldn’t shout loud enough then, you’ll never be loud enough now. “Wait, wait, Eridan, please.”

He turns around, looking at you. Now there’s fury there. Rage so bright it’s burnt away the shame and guilt. “That was the first thing that they said to me. Did you know that? I don’t know how many of your ‘ _friends’_ ” and he even threw up the fucking air quotes at you, “told you to keep the fuck away from me, but _all_ of mine told me to stay the fuck away from  you. They said you would only be interested in fuckin’, which is accurate. They said that you’ve got no fuckin’ common decency, which is also true. They said that I would be fuckin’ disappointed in what I found, an’ you know what? I really fuckin’ am.”

You’re scrambling to fix this, because you’re crazy about him and while you were finding that out you were also fucking up everything. You crawl across the futon, “Please. Eridan, I’ll change. I’ll be better. I’ll do it for you. I’ll do anything for you. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it, I swear!” Your voice rises. Your voice cracks. You’ve got goddamn tears in your eyes and you’re on your knees pleading. You don’t know what else to do or say, “Tell me what you want from me, and I’ll be that!”

You’ve seen so much on his face. Disgust, shame, rage, but at your words it pours out of him like you’ve punched a hole in a vase, or a crack in a wineglass. It leaves him with sorrow in his eyes and you think he’s got to be having some sort of emotional whiplash, flying through them at high speeds like he’s been doing. He reaches out his hand and cups your cheek. You can still smell the cum on his fingers and feel the heat of his blood.

“That’s the problem, Dave,” he says. If heartbroken had a sound, it was this, it was this voice talking to you right now, “What I want is you, the you that is more than fuckin’ around and wastin’ away his life in a shit job he hates. What I want is you, the brilliant, creative, fucked up man that I’ve seen flecks of in your eyes an’ your actions. I want you, Dave, but I don’t think you have any fuckin’ clue who you are anymore.” His hand pulls away from your cheek.

“I was foolish, thinkin’ I could salvage enough a you to make fightin’ for you really worth it. I’m sorry.”

You can’t feel your arms. You can’t feel your legs. You can feel the tears on your face.

“Please, don’t call me. Or text me, okay?” But he doesn’t wait for a reply. He turns and walks out of the room. You, distantly, hear the jangle of keys and him pick up his rifle. Then, about a minute after that, the door unlocks and opens.

You hear it shut.

And then there’s silence.

You were wrong. His aching voice wasn’t the sound of heartbreak.

That was the sound of a door shutting. That was the sound of silence in your apartment that doesn’t feel like home anymore.

That was the sound of your muffled, strangled sobs into the pillow that still smelled like him, long after he’d left you behind.


	8. Aftermath: Home Edition

Later that same day, you awake from your heartbreak induced misery-sleeping from the jangling sound of your phone. A headache burns behind your eyes, across most of your face and front of the head, actually, from crying like a fucking child. You spend thirty seconds hating yourself for crying on top of the hating yourself for chasing away Eridan and hating yourself for being a worthless sack of flesh. In those thirty seconds the phone goes quiet.

You curl back up on the futon, gripping the pillow too tightly and ignoring the way you felt dirty. Not just because of what you had done, but because you were still physically laying in your old, dried cum. You aren’t tired anymore, but you try to go back to sleep. Sleeping was better than having to get up and clean yourself up. Sleeping was better than having to deal with what you had done in the harsh daylight of the day. Sleeping was better than answering the fucking phone that was ringing again.

You roll over, reaching your arm out, and find the phone on the floor plugged in to charge. You answer it without looking at the caller ID. “Who is this?”

“Get your pathetic ass into work, Dave. Just because I let you still work here doesn’t mean that you get to skip out on days without a phone call and a good excuse!” Vriska sounds a viciously cheerful as always.

Her voice is like claws down the front of your face. She’s a cat who’s decided that patting your face to seek your attention is better when she uses all her little fucking claws too. “No.”

“Excuse me? Do you think this is a courtesy call just because I’d like to see your shining, happy little face today? You were scheduled to come in today and _come in you will._ ”

You don’t like the tone she uses there. That is a bad, frightening tone. That is the tone of a woman who wants something from you without telling you what she wants. “No,” you repeat yourself. “I am not coming to work today and I am not coming inside today.”

There’s a heartbeat of furious silence on her side of the line before she seethes out the words, “Fine. Then don’t bother coming in for the rest of the week, Dave. If you want to be a petulant child, do so without wasting my time.”

“There’s only tomorrow,” you say. You want to be snide. You want to anger her. You need to get this anger at yourself out and she’s just as good as anyone else to suffer it. Better, even, for all the shit you’ve gone through with her. “Tomorrow’s the last day of the week. So you want me in on Monday?”

“No! You damn little fool. I want you to stay out of here until at least,” there’s a pause. She must be checking the calendar. “Tuesday. You come in to work on Tuesday. I won’t be coming in that day.”

“Good. I didn’t want to see you anyway.” You hang up. You look at your phone in annoyance. You have a feeling that your fuck up is going to make any communication with people today a miserable, awful experience. You turn your phone off. Mom doesn’t call that much for her to get worried over your phone going straight to voicemail for a couple of days. For good measure you throw it across the room, where it will get lost in your waylaid shit and you will have to actually search for it before you can use it. The last thing you want today is to be checking your phone every thirty seconds for a message from Eridan that will never come.

You lay there, feeling disgusted in yourself, for a good twenty more minutes. Sleep has abandoned you, though, so you drag back the covers and pull yourself to your feet. You have a very short list of things you want to do today. Soak in the tub until your skin was wrinkled, play video games until your fingers ached and then drink alcohol until you passed out on the floor of your kitchen.

“Best damn Saturday in a while,” you tell yourself with a sneer. “Four stars, would fucking do again.” If you’re going to spend a day loathing yourself, you might as well do whatever the fuck you want to your body.

You make a small addendum to your list, as you make your way over to your bathroom. You make a pitstop into your bedroom and turn on your music. You turn it up loud enough that it will fill your entire apartment, making the walls vibrate a little with the heavier bass. Then, and only then, do you head into the bathroom for a day of hateful misery all on your own.

* * *

 Sunday morning is gone by the time you wake up. It’s sometime late in the afternoon and you wake up with your cheek pressed into the tile of your bathroom floor and probably vomit in your hair. Gross. Fucking gross.

You’re a mess, pushing yourself up slowly with one hand so you’re sliding up the wall and sitting up. You feel like shit. You never turned the light on when you came stumbling into the bathroom last night so the only light you have is through the doorway and from the hall. It’s enough to see by, so you get up and climb into the shower. You stand under hot water until you can’t tolerate standing anymore.

Then you get out, dry your hair with a towel and find yourself making your way to your bedroom. There are clothes, probably clean, that you pick up and put on. It takes a while, today everything takes a while. Eventually you’re dressed and there’s nothing else to do but get in the car and go where you always go on Sunday.

Your mom’s house is a nice two story little building on the corner of a cul-de-sac. A small house sitting on the edge of a keyhole in a black tarmac, surrounded by a loop of sidewalk and green grass front yards; that was the place you grew up in, the place you return to. Nostalgia always hit you when you drove down that street, moving your truck down the suburban pathways, past houses nestled together between fences and shade trees. You’d been driving down these streets based on memory since before you knew how to drive.

You’d biked, skated, been driven and even once or twice jogged the streets to your house all growing up. A lot of those trips had been taken with John, laughing as you coasted down that hill just next to your house, cheering each other on when you worked up the courage to go without holding onto the handle bars. So many afternoons had been spent outside, fucking around on your adventures to save the world time and again. Even Rose had been different then, with her scarf and little wizard cape flapping in the wind as she rode her bike after you and john. She wasn’t younger, but she was a girl, so for years you had pestered her and tried to elbow her out of your playing time with John.

But he was a gentleman, even when he was a snot nose kid like you, and his father had taught him to play with all the kids- not just the ones you wanted to. That was probably why Rose had gotten such a massive crush on him in middle school. He was kind, even though he would pull a prank on anyone, he never meant any harm by it. He was your best friend, always around, and the kind of guy that when you found out about Rose’s crush, you didn’t think _she_ was good enough for _him._

That turned out not to matter after all, but for a couple of years it was a dynamic between the three of you that never went away.

Sitting in the driveway at your mom’s house, you wonder if maybe, perhaps, somewhere along the line between the point where she fell for John and the point where he got married to her fucking college professor, that love turned her more than a little bitter, and angry at _you_.

When you were younger you didn’t want her and John to hook up. You actively prevented her from succeeding in making a move on him, even to the point where you told him about her feelings. You’d seen the TV shows, watched the movies. Had that happen, you would have lost your best friend.

But it didn’t happen. And you still lost John.

“I am a piece of shit,” you say to yourself, sitting in the cab of your truck. “I am the biggest shithead that has ever existed.”

You knew that about yourself, though. It was just now that you were really coming to terms with it. You were messed up, really messed up, and it was all your own fault that this shit happened to you.

All of this realizing shit got  you to thinking about how much you wanted to get drunk, and how good getting drunk sounded to you right now. So you got out of your truck, swinging the keys around on your finger, and walked up the little path to the front door. You knock and distantly hear someone shouting inside. It sounds like “come in” but could just as well be anything else.

You go into your old home and look around. You know Rose isn’t here yet and Mom’s probably in the back somewhere, so you do what you normally don’t and poke around the front room. The clutter that you remember being there when you were younger is gone, just so long as you don’t think piles of embroidered throw pillows or dozens of little glass cat statues were clutter. There was that old painting of a wizard Rose did in highschool still above the mantel, along with the photo’s mom took of you every year on your birthday since you were born.

There’s you with braces, and the birthday you and Rose both spent in casts, and the one where your elder brother has the two of you crushed in a giant bear hug. Every birthday recorded, frozen in a picture, a chronological history back to your infancy. You wondered what Eridan would think, looking back at your history like this.

You pull down the picture from your twenty first birthday and smile just a little. It’s the last one with you, Rose and John, posing together beside your combined cake. Half of it had been Harry Potter themed, for Rose, and you half had been modeled after your webcomic. It had been a hell of a party, the first time you’d been allowed to have alcohol at home without having to sneak it.

“Dave? Is that you?” You hear footsteps coming in from the kitchen. You put the picture back on the mantel and turn around. “Oh it is you darling! You’re here early!”

You try to give her a little smile, but she comes bustling in and throws her arms around you in a tight hug. Enveloped in the perfume of your mother, the same smell that she’s had all your life. Part alcohol and part lilacs; that was the smell of your mother. You put your arms around her and hug her tightly. Tears press at the back of your eyes. “Mom,” you mumble, “Hi.”

She pulls back a little, petting your hair with one hand, “Is something wrong sweetheart?” She pushes your glasses up just a little and frowns, “Have you been crying?”

“What? No.” You pull your head back and fix your glasses. “Mom, I’m fine.”

“Honey, don’t you dare lie to me. I’m your mother and I can tell when your darling little red eyes are redder than they should be!”

You pull out of the hug and back away. “What? No. Jesus, Mom, I’m perfectly fine. Do I look like there’s anything wrong with me? No. Nope. I’m cool. I’m fine. Just getting here early because you know how I like to hang around the house and look at pictures and remember old times. Ha ha, remember this one?”  You pick up a picture and wave it around as you talk, “And how Bro talked Rose into wanting pony rides at the party? Ah I still remember how there was shit all over the yard and oh how the other kids laughed and laughed when the pony decided to pee on the pansies.”

Mom laughs. “We have video of that! You and little John were laughing so hard the two of you couldn’t stay upright. And that poor boy on the pony when it happened, oh his face was so red! He was such a darling though. It was a shame you didn’t have him come over more often!”

“Yeah.” You put the picture back, “I can’t remember the name of that kid though. He wasn’t one of those kids that you had me invite because you felt sorry for them was it?”

“You don’t remember him? He and his father had just moved in down the street from here that year. He came over quite a few times, when you and Rose would have your neighborhood get-togethers! I think I even remember him coming to the graduation party in your senior year!”

It’s on the tip of your tongue, the name of this kid. You can remember him, almost. Kind of a dopey face, too big eyes… “Really liked animals, right? Always playing with Mutini when he came over?”

“Yes that’s him!” Your mother laughs and heads over to the table beside the couch. There’s a photo album sitting there. She sits down and opens it up on her lap. “I’m certain I have a picture of him in here. Come and look, honey.”

You shrug and settle down on the couch beside her. She puts half of the large album on your lap and begins flipping through the pages. A lot of these ones are from your teenage years, so most of them have you and John and Rose in them. There are a few where she’s missing and some others when she’s got her best friend, Kanaya in there. Heh, what a fucked up love triangle the four of you were involved in. Kanaya liked Rose who liked John who didn’t know how to talk to girls in a flirtatious way to save his life. And then there was you, the best bro, the twin brother, the infrequent confidant.

Mom stops flipping pages when she gets to the graduation party pictures. “Ah, there he is. That’s the boy right there!”

She points to a candid picture. There’s you standing with John, while the two of you talk to a third guy. You recognize him as soon as you see his face, but you only can place his name once you read it under the caption. “Tavros. That kid was the one riding the pony?”

“Yup!” She sighs, looking over the pictures. “Oh we used to have you and your friends over all the time. It really helped Rosie get out of her shell, you know. Remember how she used to lock herself up in her room all the time? It’s only been like that since you moved out.”

“I know Mom.” You’re looking at the pictures. There’s another one, later where you and John are posing for the camera. In the background is that Tavros kid, but he’s talking to someone else you recognize. There’s no name under the picture, because it’s only a profile in the background, but you’d recognize that smug little bastard’s face anywhere. “Who’s this?” you ask, pointing to him. “I don’t remember him coming around.”

“Oh him?” She squints at the picture. “I don’t know. Maybe he was a friend of a friend? You know how we told everyone to bring whomever they wanted to. It was to be the biggest party of the year! Why? Do you know him?”

“Yeah.” It’s Eridan. A young Eridan standing in the background of one of your pictures and you never even noticed him there before. “Yeah. Sort of ran into him a couple weeks back.” Your chest feels tight. Your heart is beating so hard that it’s hard to breathe. “I didn’t know he was at this party. I didn’t recognize him at all.”

“Well, you were very involved with your friends. You didn’t ever seem interested in making any new ones once you had your circle, you know?” Her words are distant in your ears.

Eridan was at this party. It looked like he and this Tavros were friends.

He knew you before all the shit you’ve been doing these last few years. Or at least he knew you enough to show up to your party. But he--

You could have-

You could have known him before John left. Before Rose blamed you. Before you met Porrim. Before you just—

Gave up.

“Dave?” Mom’s voice is all concern. Her hand is on your shoulder. There’s static in your ears and ice in your blood. Your fingers are numb. Oh you’re fucked. You’re so fucked. “Dave?” She shakes you, more insistent. “Honey, look at me.”

Your head jerks up. Your vision is blurry and you think there’s something wrong with your eyes but when you blink them you just realize that it’s tears. “I fucked up Mom. There was this guy and I just…” You push your glasses up to wipe your eyes. You feel like an asshole again, a useless, waste of space asshole and you hate yourself for crying over it again. “It was going slow, but I don’t know how to go slow. I don’t know how to just stay fucking friends with anyone anymore. I fucked it up and now he won’t want anything to do with me anymore and I think I…”

She puts her arm around your shoulders and brings you close for a hug. You resist it for a while, trying to be strong, trying not to crumble again, but when she runs her fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead, you know that is a losing battle. She takes the album away so it won’t fall to the floor while you turn and press your face into her shoulder.  You don’t sob at all. You manage your tears better than that. Just because you can’t stop from crying doesn’t mean you have to be a baby about it.

“Shhh,” she whispers, “It’s all right, honey.” She continues to pet your hair like she did when you were a kid. “Give it a little time to heal over and then try to fix things, hm? You’re a grown up, he’s a grown up, I’m sure that you two can talk things out and you’ll get your friend back.”

There was a little pause and then she said, “Like with John. I think you could fix things with him now, if you tried Dave.”

You keep silent, holding onto her. Fix things with John? No. You couldn’t. Besides, this wasn’t about him in the least. This was about Eridan. Eridan whom you loved, finally realized you loved him, and you fucked it up royally.

There’s a knock at the door and over your head you hear Mom say, “Come in Rose!”

The door swings open and in walks Rose, talking already, “I apologize for coming so early, Mother, but it turns out that-,” When she stops suddenly, you pull out of the hug with Mom and look over, wiping your eyes. Rose looks you over and then leans back, folding her arms over her chest, “Equius had to leave on business sooner than he thought. My plans with him were cut short.” She looks between you two. You see the little bit of pleasure she’s got tucked in the corner of her mouth, it’s hidden in the next moment when she frowns deeply.

You look down and away. ‘I told you so’ is the last thing you want to hear from your sister, but you have a feeling that there will be plenty of that happening.

She doesn’t even bother asking, “It’s that Ampora guy, isn’t it. You dragged it out and now you fucked yourself up over him haven’t you?” She heaves a disgusted sigh. “What did I say to you, Dave? I told you he was messed up and I told you it would end badly and I _told_ you not to come crying about it.  You knew this was going to happen.”

Your wallowing, self-pitying tears dry up in the sudden fury that boils up inside of you. Shrugging off your mother’s arms, you stand up, “He isn’t the one messed up, Rose. He isn’t the one who ruined things. It was me. I fucked it up with him, just like I fucked it up with John as my friend and how I fucked it up with you and John years ago. It was me, Rose. It was all me, always me, who ruins everything for everyone else around. Is that what you want to hear?

“Is that what you want from me? An admonition of guilt? I fucked it up. I fucked it up so bad he is probably wishing he never ran into me, just like you probably wish I was never born.” It’s getting hard to think straight, hard to feel anything but a painful heaviness in your chest. “Fuck. Just fuck.”

You sink back down onto the couch, because in the end you can’t blame her. You can’t be mad at her. You can’t hold onto that dark, vicious grudge the way she has for years. She’s your twin sister and for all that she makes you crazy, for all that she hates you, you can’t hate her. You put your face in your hands and whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You feel your mom’s hand rest lightly on your shoulder.

What surprises you, however, is the weight on the couch on your other side. Rose sits with you and puts her arms around your arm, holding on tight as she leans her head on your shoulder. “I told you he would hurt you,” she whispers, “I told you so! But you didn’t hear me. You never listen to anything I have to say!”

“I fell in love with him, Rose,” you say into your palms, “I couldn’t walk away from that.”

“You’re better off without him,” she says firmly. But you don’t believe her. There’s no way that’s true when you know just what shit you’ve been doing with your life. Rose knew more than your mom, that was for sure, but she didn’t know everything. She didn’t know about your boss, for one thing.

She probably didn’t even really know what you did over at Porrim’s anyway. At least not all of it, like those times with Damara. Hell, even you didn’t know half the shit you ended up doing over at that apartment.

You end up shaking your head, because even if Eridan was a self-important arrogant bastard, he cared. He cared _and_ he wouldn’t put up with your bullshit. When you went too far, he told you. When you did something he liked, he rewarded you. He cared about you when no one else did. You were better with Eridan. And without him…

There’s a bleak road before you. It’s the same road you’ve been on for nearly five years, but it wasn’t until now that you saw it was just concrete on concrete. Nowhere to stop and rest, no color, no life; on that road there was nothing but a continuous, grey pathway to your grave.

Then you had run into Eridan and he brought a gun and a sneer and good food and he looked at your path and said _“Well it’s all right, but I think you could do better. So fix it up.”_ The only difference was instead of walking off to let you try and ‘fix’ your life on your own. He picked up a sledgehammer with you and brought those concrete walls crumbling down.

There was sunlight now. And music again. But it was only the beginning. It wasn’t finished, you weren’t finished, and you didn’t want to do this alone.

Rose stays at your side while your mom goes off to get drinks for the two of you. Your tears are gone because this time you’re going to do what your mom says. Fix it, she advises, talk to him.

Well, you will. You’ll talk to him.

“I have to make it right,” you whisper, lifting your face from your hands. “I have to fix things with him.”

“No you don’t, Dave,” Rose says to you. “You don’t owe him anything.”

“Yes I do,” You pull away from your sister. “I do owe him. I owe him an apology and an explanation. I owe him the chance to get a good punch in, if that’s what he wants.” You’re rubbing your eyes and sniffling to get yourself under control. “Rose, I owe him whatever he wants from me because it was my fault and my mistake and if I want him back I have to do this.”

“You don’t need him!” She clenches her hands into tight fists, “Why do you think that you do?”

“Because I love him. Because I do need him.” You look away from her, “Because even if he’s an asshat, he makes me less of a douche knowing him. Because when I think about losing him forever, I can’t breathe and everything hurts. Because if I let him go and don’t ever try, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, Rose. I’ll regret it and I don’t want any more regrets like that in my life.”

“Rose,” Mom says, returning to the room, “don’t discourage him. Can’t you see Dave is finally going after someone seriously for the first time in years? Do you remember him doing this in highschool, ever?” She pushes a glass into your hand and one into Rose’s and then sips her own drink. You can count on Mom to give you fantastic alcoholic drinks, even if you can’t be sure her food is edible, so you’re not surprised at how good it tastes when you sip.

Rose sighs, “Mother, this Ampora boy isn’t some sweetheart trying to make Dave a better person with pretty words and pats on the head. He’s possessive and needy and can be downright cruel. He isn’t a nice man and he’s got outlandish ideas on how to accomplish his ideals!”

You sink back into the couch and watch as they begin to discuss the different traits a man should have. The cushions are welcomingly soft and the alcohol helps sooth your raw nerves. You’ve made your decision. A little time apart and then you’ll try to get ahold of him. You were going to fix things, to sacrifice everything to do so.

For the first time in a long time, Rose doesn’t make fun of you at every opportunity. She sits close by you and laughs with your mother as they discuss the different kind of butts of the world. She even smiles to you, when she doesn’t think you see. You fucked a lot of things up in your life, but maybe tonight you fixed one of them, at least a little.

It was nice to have your sister back. 


	9. Aftermath: Work Edition

On Tuesday you come in to work on time. The morning had started far better today than it had Monday, where you woke up with another hangover, this time in your old bedroom at your mom’s house. That had followed a breakfast the likes of which you hadn’t been a part of in years. As different as your mom and sister could be, they had some very distinct similarities. Like what they had for breakfast or how they prepared for the day with too much coffee and a chapter of their favorite book. Or how they woke up at the crack of dawn like sleeping in was some sort of fucking crime.

But that was yesterday, and today you had woken up in your own bed –the mattress returned to you Monday night by your sister- and at a reasonable hour.

So here you were, walking into work, ready to spend the day away helping customers print pictures and talk to your co-worker when you discover that today’s co-worker (Nepeta) called in sick. Sitting on the counter at the front, with the most displeased expression you can imagine being on a face, Vriska looks at you while on her phone. She flips it shut and scowls at you, “Nepeta’s mom called. The girl got food poisoning and is vomiting up everything she’s eaten. Looks like it’s you and me, buddy.”

She checks her watch while you try to keep yourself from throwing up. Her older woman charm had worn off on you long ago. “We’ve got half an hour before we have to open up the store…”

“No.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Absolutely not. I’m done with that. I’m not fucking you anymore.”

She goes rigid and then hops down from the counter, “Are you absolutely certain on that decision, Dave? Because once you chose to end this little train ride, you aren’t going to like the consequences.”

“What are you going to do, fire me? Because I won’t fuck you? Oh yeah, that would go over well with your bosses. Face it, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” You aren’t going to back down on this. If you just bend over and take it, how can you fix things with Eridan? He wouldn’t want to share you with this bitch, hell, you wouldn’t want to share you with this bitch.

She narrows her eyes, “Trust me Dave, you don’t want to challenge me on this. I’ve got more dirt on you than you know.” There’s that shitty little smirk she gives you in blue lipstick. “All I have to do is make one call and you’re out of here.”

“Fine then. Make the fucking call. I’ve got a fucking job to do.” You turn and walk away towards the photo lab. You can get the machine up and running in ten minutes flat, which gives you time to fiddle with the cash registers and organize some of the mess that’s piled up behind the counter.

Vriska’s vanished, so you figure that she’s either pouting or making her fucking phone call. The bitch thinks she has so much power when she’s just a measly store owner. They could pop her out and put in someone new in a heartbeat.  You’d seen it happen before- that was how she’d gotten in here after all. You could stand to see it again real soon.

About the middle of the day, Paul, one of your other co-workers, comes in. He’s not such a bad dude, really, just a little lax in details. He’s good with the customer’s, though, so you let him take register while you go restock back in the aisles.

You don’t think it’s odd that Paul’s been called in on the same day you have, because of Nepeta’s absence. He was still partially in training to use the photo lab, while you had mastered it long ago. About an hour left until you’re done with work, you see Vriska walking down the center of the store. You duck your head and get back to work. One hour until you’re done, one hour until you can get the hell out of this place and clear your mind with something more enjoyable.

But just a few minutes later, there she comes walking back to your aisle. She’s got a printed out little form and an envelope in her hands, “Hand me your name tag and your keys, Dave.”

“What?” you straighten up from where you’re restocking shampoo. “What’s going on?”

“You failed your drug testing,” She said with a haughty smile, “Here’s  your last paycheck you’re going to swindle from the company and I need your keys to the office.”

“You’re kidding me,” You say. “There’s no way that I failed that test.” You took that to get you up from photo lab to shift manager. It was better pay and less hours with _her_ around. You may be fucking up in your own life, but at least you were pretending you could go somewhere in this company. At least somewhere where Vriska was less likely to be.

“Look at the paper for yourself,” She hands it over. After a little searching, you find where it says you’ve failed.

“This is fucked up,” You mutter to yourself. You’ve never gotten caught high near your work, or the testing site. The only place you’ve ever been high is at Porrim’s and that wore off long before you got to work. You look at Vriska and she’s got such a _I’ve won_ expression that you know she’s done something. You don’t know what the hell it was, but she did something to your test.

“You’re fired, Dave. So keys, give them.”

You dig them out of your pocket and shove them into her hand. Taking your tag off, you just drop that on the floor. You snatch the envelope with your check in it from her hand and walk out. Paul tries to call you over as you head for the door but you just keep walking. Fuck this place. Fuck her. Fuck him. Fuck everything about this whole damn week.

You step out into the late afternoon and curse your luck. There are clouds rolling in above you. You still have the paper crumpled up in your hand, but instead of tossing it out in the trash, you shove it into your pocket. “Fucking ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself as you hunch your shoulders forwards against the chill of the air and start walking home.

How were you going to find a place this close to your apartment to work at? How were you going to afford your stupid little apartment without this job? You’d have to move out, and then go where? Back home? Could you really survive moving back in with your mother and sister? A shudder runs down your spine that isn’t attributed to the cold at all.

Standing at the corner of the street, in a small cluster of people who are waiting for the light to change colors, you scuff your shoes on the pavement and sigh. What the fuck were you going to do now?

You cross when the light changes, walking down the next street with a frown. You’re almost to your apartment building when you hear someone calling out your name, “Dave! Dave!”

Turning around you see Rose hurrying up. She’s wearing one of her long coats, with an umbrella on her arm. Ready for any sign of rain, that was Rose. She catches up to you at the door. “What are you doing home so early? Don’t you have work for another hour?”

“Not anymore,” you mutter, digging out the page from your pocket. “My bitch of a boss managed to get me fucked over more than usual. I got fired.” She walks into the building with you and the two of you go to the elevator.

Rose is looking over the paper thoughtfully. “This is the report from your drug test?”

“Yeah she must have had a copy sent to her or something.” You slouch against the wall of the elevator. “Fucking bitch that she is, she called me out an hour before I was going to leave anyway. Just fires me right on the spot.”

“Hm. I think Mother should take a look at this.”

You wince. “And why do you think that?”

She turns the paper around and taps at a part on the bottom, “Because if this really is the results to your drug test, I think she would really like to know just how you managed to get pregnant.”

“Preg-,” You stop mid-word and pull the paper from her hand. She folds her arms across her chest and watches as you scan the page again. “Well fuck me, you’re right.”

“You could sue for wrongful termination, and probably a bit more, if you like.” On Rose, that haughty little smile actually warms your heart. “I’m sure any lawyer worth their salt would have a field day with a test like this.”

You’re grinning happily, “Fuck yeah they will. When we get to the apartment I’m going to call and tell her I’m suing.”

Rose pats your shoulder, “That sounds pleasant, dear brother. I shall make us drinks to celebrate. Mother would request such a thing to celebrate with.”

You get to the apartment in a far better mood than when you left work. It takes a little while to scrounge up your phone and when you do end up making the call, you have to have it plugged into the charger so there’s some battery life to work with.

You call straight to Vriska’s cell, a number she gave the employees in case of emergency, and hold the paper in your hand while you do so. Rose is off in the kitchen when Vriska picks up the other line.

“Have you called to beg for your job back,” Vriska hisses at you, without any introduction. “Because I don’t think there’s _anything_ that you could do that could change my mind, David.”

“Oh hell no,” You reply, having to fight back your laughter. You lean back against the wall, basking in the circumstances, “I’m calling to tell you that I’ll be suing. Maybe you should take another look at the test results, Vriska, because the last time I checked, guys can’t get fucking pregnant.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence on the other line before she says, “Are you _trying_ to sound insane? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Why don’t you check that report you gave me again a little more closely? Say down at the bottom? I got no fucking clue why they would have that test tacked on, but I’m sure fucking glad that they have, because there isn’t any way for me to be pregnant, Vriska.”

She’s quiet for a while and you think you hear a door shut. “Before you get really devoted to this whole suing thing, Dave, I think that you should know something.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?” You’re confident that there is nothing that she could say that would—

“That’s mine. Don’t ask me how but I got them switched and oh my god. That’s mine.”

You feel the smile fall from your face, “But didn’t you say that…” There’s silence, silence from you and from her. “Your husband is…”

“You want to know what I suggest, Dave?” Her voice was quiet, hardly more than a whisper, “I’ll put it in that you quit, you gave two weeks’ notice and you quit amicably. Then you shut the hell up about the pregnancy and the piss and I don’t ruin your ability to get a fucking job in the future. How does that sound?”

“Is it mine?” You don’t think you can say anything else until you know for sure.

“Dave, do you agree or not?”

“Will you answer me if agree? Because I’ll do it. I’ll drop the idea and I won’t go through with it.”

She’s silent for long enough that Rose comes into the room, holding a celebratory drink. You don’t know where she found the fruit, but there’s an apple slice floating in the alcohol. “Yes,” Vriska whispers into your ear, “Yes it is.”

“Oh.”

“I think we’re done here, then,” And a second later she’s hung up on you. You lower your phone and look up to Rose.

Her smile fades as she looks at your face, “Dave? What’s wrong?”

You take the drink from Rose and swallow about half of it down without batting an eye. “We’re not going to sue.” She opens her mouth to talk, but you shake your head. “No, please don’t ask. Don’t ask. Let’s just get drunk. Fuck the job, fuck the bitch, I don’t care what happens next but I need to get drunk tonight.”

Rose leans back, sipping her drink, “I’ll call some friends over, hm? We’ll have a right drunken fest, just like old times?” She smiled at you, but you could tell she was worried in her eyes.

“Just like old times,” you reply before drinking down the rest of the glass. You lean back against the wall and desperately try not to think about what Vriska’s told you. You were not going to think about that at all.

* * *

When they, Rose’s friends, arrive, they bring food with them. Each one of them shows up with a different food group. One with fresh bread, another with a bowl of vegetables and another with a stack of steaks so tall you think that there’s enough for everyone to have two. When the last guest shows up, “everyone” turns out to be Karkat, Kanaya, Latula, and Equius. You sit miserably at the table, drinking enough to ruin your liver and three more, while Rose sits on the edge of the table and commands the kitchen. Latula’s the one with the steaks, laughing as she talks with Kanaya about something you don’t hear properly.

Karkat sits at the table with you, chopping up fruit and tossing it into a bowl. He’s chewing off your ear with his complaints about some professor or another from his classes. You think he looks nice, fiercely angry like that. He’s passionate in his arguments in a way that reminds you about Eridan. It reminds you so much, in fact, that you reach over and put your hand over his mouth and tell him to shut the hell up.

Rose twists around at the silence from Karkat and you hear she asks you a question you don’t hear. You wave your finger at Karkat and say drunkenly, “Stop bein’ so damn excitable ‘bout shit. Huh?”

Karkat gapes at you with an open mouth and confused expression. He looks up at Rose who sighs and reaches over to pat you on the shoulder. “Equius, would you mind bringing over the pitcher?” In the next minute or two, she refills your glass and says, “Calm down Dave, enjoy yourself, hm? We’re all here to have a good time and eat together.” She runs a hand down your shoulder and you shrug it off.

You push yourself up, attempting to stand, but you get dizzy and slump back into your seat. You bend your arm and hide your face against it. There’s so much shit in your life, too much shit. If only you could hide your head and drink at the same time.

You never tasted the food going down, but a couple hours later, you’re on your knees in the bathroom tasting it as it comes back up. As far as you can tell, you’re alone in the bathroom, and you hate it. Rose is probably gone with the others, your kitchen filled with the scents of alcohol and food, all of them but a memory.

You’re alone and you hate it. Hate being alone in your apartment, alone in your sickness and alone in your life.

The rest of the night is spent leaning against the bathroom wall, half awake, half asleep and holding onto the empty bottle like it could actually be a solution to any problem that you’ve ever had in your life.

* * *

You lose Wednesday. Hazy and drunk, it’s lost somewhere on the tile floor under your knees in the bathroom. It’s lost between the living room and your bedroom, curled up on your futon or against the wall in your bed. It’s lost somewhere under the kitchen table or in the fridge. It’s lost and you don’t bother looking for it again.

Thursday you wake up and it’s already midday.

It’s like Saturday all over again, except this time as you sober up in the shower, you’ve got a new little bit of misery to add to your growing collection. Joblessness and unwanted fatherhood; but at least one of those things seemed like it wouldn’t be a problem in the future. Vriska seemed intent on keeping it quiet. You had no fucking clue what she was going to do about the kid but you couldn’t think about that.

You couldn’t keep thinking about that, about her, because it just made you ache more for Eridan.

Ache for him because you fucked it up. Ache for him because you wanted so much more than a onetime roll around in the bed sheets. Ache for him because you’ve fallen hard and there’s so much shit you’ve done and keep doing.

It’s painful, dragging yourself from the shower and to the kitchen. There are left overs with a note from Rose, a hopeful little _Everything will work out in the end, dear brother_ that you don’t believe. The food’s good though, even cold.

The place smells like booze and food you didn’t cook and a little bit like vomit- especially the bathroom and the trashcan- and you’ve had just about enough of being stuck inside. You need some freedom, some pavement under your feet and open sky above. You tug on a jacket and pull up your hood before leaving your apartment locked up tight. You’ll just walk around for a bit, clear your head and try to be alive for a while before you decide that booze is the only way to cope with your issues, again.

Today you leave your phone behind, so you won’t get bored halfway through your walk and see if you can hitch a ride back home, or to somewhere else, from a fuck buddy. You realize you’ve been leaving your phone home a lot as you ride the elevator down, but you’re so certain that Eridan’s not just going to text you out of the blue anymore that you just don’t care. So you lean against the back of the elevator as a lady gets on from the floor below and you stare up at the ceiling and you list the things you are currently not caring about.

You’ve just gotten to item thirty two (matching socks) when you reach the bottom floor and head out of the building. The sky has cleared up considerably since the last time you looked out, and you decide on the list of things you care about, clear skies are a good number one.

There’s a cute little ice cream place you’ve heard has decent ice cream so you head off in that direction. When you get there, it turns out the ice cream shop is a candy shop too. You go inside and there are a couple of kids poking around, but it seems pretty empty. So you order up a double scoop of ice cream, just plain old chocolate, the comfort of comforts, and sidle your way over to a little table by the window.

It’s one of those tables raised up to chest height, so you hop up into the seat and sit there, eating ice cream and pretending everything is fine as fuck. It gets easier to do so as you watch a mother come in with a five year old kid in tow. The kid’s eyes go so wide they almost pop out as he wanders around the store. His mother watches, standing back a little as he bounces from container to container. It’s good to see some people have lives that don’t scrape the bottom of the barrel, so you end up smiling a little as you bite at the top of your ice cream cone.

Some chocolate goes dripping down your knuckles when you turn to watch the kid again for a while, and you quickly start licking your hand clean. You’re distracted with this task when the bell on the door rings for some new customers. When you look up, your pulse begins to race.

Eridan’s turned towards the door, not able to see you yet, and he’s at the door with none other than Tavros. This kid had grown up into a tall man, with broad shoulders but still with that easy smile you’re suddenly remembering from highschool. You slink down in your chair, trying to hide behind the cone. It hasn’t been long enough. You haven’t thought of what you could say to him. You’re still reeling from the information from Vriska, from him walking out on you, and from losing your job.

You’re certain he doesn’t want to see you yet. He’ll turn around and walk right out. He’ll see you and—

“Is that you, Dave?”

You jerk your head up and look at him. The two of them are stopped next to the table on their way to the counter. Tavros is smiling, and miracle of fucking miracles, so is Eridan. “It is,” that’s Tavros, stepping forward with a growing smile, “I haven’t seen you in years. How are you doing?”

“Been better,” you reply quietly. “How about you?”

“Good, good,” Tavros said pleasantly. Eridan touches his arm and says, “I’ll get us the icecream.” He steps back. There’s a brief smile from him, to you, at least so you think so, which is better than what you were thinking before. Tavros sits down in the chair beside yours. He puts his chin on his fingers and says, “This one was Eridan’s idea. This friend date I mean. He’s told me that he’s been trying that out with you too, but it hasn’t been going well.”

“You could say that,” you’re nearing the end of your cone now and wonder if Eridan would find it rude if you hopped down and absconded before he got back from the counter. “Wish it was going better but…” You shrug your shoulders. “I fucked up.”

“What do you mean?”

Eridan returns then with two ice cream cones. He hands over the cone to Tavros and then gets into the chair across from you. You’ve eaten the bottom of your own cone and fold your arms across the table. You look from Tavros to Eridan and say to the latter, “You didn’t tell him?”

Eridan looks away from the both of you and says, “Tav and I are good friends, but it was kind of a big fuckin’ deal. The kinda deal I can’t just up an talk about with anyone, no matter how good a friend they be.”

You lean forward a little, “I wanted to apologize, again.”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Eridan says with a finality that makes you sit back in your chair quickly. “So we can talk about anything else, got it?”

Tavros cleared his throat, “Uh. Right. So. Dave, how have you been? And your sister?”

“She’s into this guy.” The words are automatic as you stare down at the table. “Real into him, probably going to marry him. That kind of serious. What about you?”

“No one lately. I’ve been busy working in my aunt’s new bakery. She’s just gotten it off the ground and she needs all the help she can get. So I don’t go out much except when Eridan invites me out.” Tavros says with a smile, “He and I have been doing this friend thing for, um, how many years now?”

“Two an’ a half,” Eridan murmurs, “Comin’ up on three pretty quick here.”

“Oh. Wow,” you look from one to the other, “I didn’t know that this was going on for that long. I mean it sounded kind of insane when I first heard it.” When Tavros gives you a confused look, you clarify, “Just going out to befriend people, that’s not how it works, right? Ha, at least I thought so.” You run a hand through your hair and look past Tavros out through the window. “People don’t really do that…”

There’s this long silence between the three of you, where you try not to think about how close Eridan’s legs are to yours. You could move your knee just a little closer and touch his. You could just reach across the table and touch his arm. You look back to him and bite your bottom lip. “Eridan-,”

“No. I know you’re just gonna apologize and just don’t okay? I know you’re sorry.” Eridan says quickly, cutting you off, “I just need some more time, all right?”

“Uh, I know this is between you two,” Tavros clears his throat, “But can I get a little clarification on what the hell you guys are talking about?”

“No,” you and Eridan say at the same time.

“Look,” Tavros says with surprising firmness, “Dave, I looked up to you in highschool but I’ve heard you’ve really become trouble lately. The kind of trouble I’d rather not see my best friend get into. I told him that when he told me he ran into you at the grocery store, but he didn’t listen. He said that there was something about you.” He turns to look at Eridan, “And we’ve been friends for longer than two years, and best friends for at least two years. But are you really going to keep things from me because you don’t think we know each other well enough or because it hurts to talk about?”

Your cheeks burn in shame and you look away, unwilling to admit the truth that yeah, you were trouble. Major fucking trouble. Just look how your last friend date ended up! And, the worst part, or at least what Tavros would probably think was the worst part, was even  though you were regretful and ashamed of what you had done and where it had ended up, you wanted Eridan like that again, biting at  your neck and calling you his. You reach a hand up and rub at your neck. The marks have only barely begun to fade properly. You look up to see Eridan looking at your arm.

“Well?” Tavros says to Eridan, “Which is it?”

It’s hard to look upset and hurt when you’re eating an ice cream cone, but somehow Eridan manages to pull it off. Or perhaps that was just your libido talking again. “It hurts,” Eridan mutters finally, “And this is too public a place to talk about it. We’re in a candy store for god’s sake, there are fuckin’ kids here.” Eridan ran a hand through his hair, “But I’ll say this much. What you warned me about, Tav? I shoulda listened better to what you were sayin’. I let my feelin’s get the best a me.”

Eridan got up from his seat and stepped away from the table, “Can we at least go outside?”

You get up as well and follow Eridan outside with Tavros behind you. Out on the sidewalk, the three of you stand at the corner of the candy shop and a bookstore to talk. You’re hunched against the chilly air and move so you stand across from Eridan. You feel his eyes on your neck again and can’t help but turn your cheek a little so he can get a better look. He flushes and looks away from you to Tavros.

“All right, so this is more private,” Tavros says, “What the hell happened between you two?”

Between you and Eridan, Friday night and early Saturday morning gets explained to Tavros. The slow progression of color across Tavros’s face is amazing to watch, he goes from red to pale so fast that you’re sure he’s getting lightheaded. When you two are done, all you want is for Eridan to mark up the other side of your neck but from the ashamed look on his face and the furious little frown Tavros has, that isn’t going to happen any time soon.

You swallow, trying to get moisture back into your throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it… to end like that…” But even to you the apology sounds empty, insincere.

Eridan looks away from you but Tavros steps in. Standing this close together, you realize just how fucking tall Tavros is. You don’t remember him being so tall in highschool. His shoulders are huge and he’s scowling down at you. “Strider, I think it’s better if you back off now and stay that way.” He muscles you back until your shoulder scratches along the brick wall and you can’t see Eridan. “I’m sorry but it’s got to be this way. You’re right, you did fuck it up. So please, just keep away.”

You rub your neck and turn away from them. “Yeah, yeah sure. Okay.” You turn  your back and walk away a few  steps. You hear them walk away as well, after a quick whispering to each other. You stop and look over your shoulder and watch Eridan walk away for a while. Tavros puts his arm over Eridan’s shoulders and you wish you could hate him.

You wish you could hate him, but you can’t. The responsibility of this rests on your shoulders, and yours alone, no matter what guilt Eridan expressed. You were the one to blame.

Your shoulders sag as you turn your back again and keep walking.

* * *

It’s late when you get home. The night is black as pitch outside, except for the pools of golden light pouring down from the streetlamps up and down the street. You’re cold. You’re tired. Your feet and your heart ache.

You stumble in through the dark and make it to the futon, unwilling to go any further. It doesn’t smell like Eridan anymore, but if you close your eyes tightly enough you can pretend.

Your phone is on the floor by the futon and after some time in the dark, you get used to it, so the blinking light on your phone is a pinprick of light you can’t ignore. So you roll over and scoop it up off the floor and check your messages.

The only one that matters is the one from Feferi.

CC: )(eard aboat your whale of a problem with –Eridan! Aradia and I are reely conchcerned aboat you. I think I have a solution to kelp you if you’re up to it.   
CC: I still have one favor I can call in with him and dolphinately be sure that he’ll show up. )(ow aboat it?    
CC: Think of it as a favor from one frond to another. Let me know when you’ve had some time to think it over!

You already hate yourself for what you’ve done, and figure you can’t feel any worse than you do so you tell her yes. Yes. You’ll do whatever she suggests. She was a friend of his and or at least enough of one that he had a picture of her. Maybe she had a better insight into him than you had.

If this failed, well, at least you could say that you had tried everything.


	10. Gardens and Dinner Parties

The first thing that Feferi tells you is to be patient. Be patient and wait. She invites you out to lunch on Friday and while she rips her olive garden breadsticks into little bits, she tells you these things. “Be patient,” She says with her charming little smile, “When you come chasing after him, he get’s all bigheaded about things and figures he’s got the power in the situation. You need to back off and cool down to make him realize just how much he needs you and then he’ll come, Dave, he’ll come crawling to  you doing what it takes to fix things.”

She sounds confident, the way girls tended to sound when they knew exactly what they were talking about with men. Part of you wanted to point out that awful what if in the back of your mind. What if you backed off and he realized he _didn’t_ need you? Some of that must have shown on your face because she wipes her fingers off with her napkin and reaches over and pats you on the arm.

“Believe me, if he didn’t want you back, you would know. He’s not very personable with people that he doesn’t like and he has a whole slew of insults that will make you gasp.”

You nod your head because that sounds like him, at least, but you’re still worried. “How long will I have to wait for him?”

“Two weeks or so. Now the first week he’ll be good about keeping radio silence, but the second week he’ll probably text you once or twice, to see if you’re still there, and to see if you’re still interested. The key is, when you talk to him, to not be overbearing. He does enough of that on his own, he doesn’t need any help with that. You and I both know just how possessive he can be and that won’t be changing any time soon.

“So,” she smiles at you. Her fingernails flash in the light as she picks up her glass and sips from it. Her red lips leave a mark on the rim of the glass. “When he talks to you, you need to make it sound like you’re just a little distracted and that you’re not hanging on his every word. Once you’ve got him thinking he could lose you, he’ll be willing to do anything, even go out to dinner with you when he’s said he doesn’t want to see you.” She laughs softly, “The truth is he does want to see you, honey, it’s very obvious to me.” Feferi looks pointedly at your neck and you give her a sheepish smile in reply.

There were some other tips she gave you, while the two of you ate- or rather while she had lunch and you picked at breadsticks. You had to conserve money if you were going to stay in your apartment while jobless. You were looking, of course, and would spend the next two weeks looking harder for one because it was all you really had to distract yourself from, well, everything.

He hadn’t expressly told you so, but you knew that the only way that Eridan would consider you worthy to date is if you didn’t hop into the pants of anyone you knew was available. Unfortunately, that meant you couldn’t go to see friends that you used to see all the time, because you knew yourself. You knew you would slip down that slope of just-friends to fucking-like-rabbits.  You’d done it before, you’d do it again.

What it did mean is that you had a lot of free time to suddenly finish those video games that you’d gotten but never played. So at least you got to talk to someone, even if it was the Captor’s laughing in your ears and shouting about fucking pretty much anything in sight, which didn’t _help_ the fact you hadn’t had anyone touch your cock since Eridan, but at least you could talk to someone  you knew.

It also opened up hours of time for you to reacquaint yourself with your music.

To be honest, the first rap you came up with in those two weeks was the worst one that you think you’ve ever come up with. You were making better music when you were a two year old in diapers. It was awful and took all fucking day to work on, but at least you could still mix music with some quality.

You threw yourself into the music, into the job search, in hopes that you could forget what day it was. You figured that would be next to impossible, considering you were Dave Fucking Strider and you could tell the time in your sleep.

Yet, you were caught wholly off guard when, in the middle of the second week, you got a text from Eridan. Nothing major. Just a “hello”. Not even a “how are you”.

It took all of your control not to respond instantly, but to wait for fifteen minutes or so before texting back. Feferi said that would work, said it would do what you need done. But all you could think of was that he was talking to you. You’d thought that you’d lost him and yet here he was. Talking to you again.

You couldn’t wait for Saturday.

* * *

On Saturday morning, you’re so restless and nervous that you don’t even bother trying to settle down. You just grab up everything that you’ve been told to bring and drive over to the girls’ apartment. They live in a nicer part of town than you do, because Feferi’s maybe just a tad filthy rich, and while you usually only see their sweet little bedroom and kitchen, they usher you up to the roof.

Unlike the roof of your building, which was a few forgotten crates, gravel and some air conditioners or something whirring away in the corner, their roof is like an Egyptian hanging garden. Long cast iron poles hold up a glass ceiling and inside there is a winding brick pathway through plants and flowers that have no business being so green and luxurious in winter time.

There’s a little table of glass and metal and some chairs there, waiting for the evening’s event. Feferi fusses over your clothing and hair until you’re pretty sure she’s just playing dress up with you because she can. You end up in a nice suit, though, with a red vest and a black tie. She lets you keep your glasses, only because she says your eyes look so scared, “like a little bitty white bunny!” and laughed.

Aradia is the one who sets up the table and the area around. She tucks candles into every nook and cranny in the area. The dishes on the table gleam like real silver, or at least what you think real silver looks like. Things just continue to get more and more fancy as you watch, from the food—they ordered it from a fucking five star restaurant—to the candles, to the music they have playing in the garden.

You think this might be just way to fucking over the top, but you can’t stop it now. Eridan has already agreed to come see Feferi to talk. It took a surprising amount of cajoling, apparently, and quite a long phone call where you swore Feferi was using her best Sweet Innocent Girl voice. Yet, Eridan was going to be there, dressed to the nines as well, and everything was, in Feferi’s words, going swimmingly.

As you stand on the roof, towards the edge of the gardens and looking down over the streets below and the cars glittering like little red and white jewel tipped blocks, you pray it all turns out all right.

If it doesn’t, you don’t want to think about what you’ll have to do next.

* * *

There’s a plan, of course. Feferi’s got a plan for this whole evening, but the only part that you know about is your part which, for the first hour or so, is just sitting and waiting.

You and Aradia are both up in the garden while Feferi talks to Eridan down in the apartment below. You don’t know what they’re saying, what they could possibly talk to each other for an hour for, but an hour is just how long they spend down there.

You hear their voices long before they appear. Sound carries in the garden fairly well, and so when the doors open and they step out, you hear exactly what they’re saying.

“I admit,” Eridan was saying, “I do miss this garden up here. You have to drive a considerable distance out a the city to get anything remotely this well cultivated. A course that doesn’t mean things like people’s yards and the like, but for good gardens like this one that are also public to wander in? The best one’s an hour drive out.”

“You know you could always come over more,” Feferi replied. You could see glimpses of the two of them through the leaves, “Our goodbyes before don’t have to be goodbye forever you know! I still wanted to be friends with you, Eridan, it was you who said we should stop seeing each other at all, even as friends.”

“Well, considerin’ how we broke up-,” he stops suddenly.

They’ve come around the bend in the pathway, to where the table is set up, candles lit and soft music playing. Aradia stands gracefully from her seat and you follow. You had felt ridiculous dressed so nicely, but Eridan has outdone you a hundred fold. He’s got the suit on, sure as fuck, but this isn’t some department store pick out like yours is. You’ve never seen clothing fit a man so well before in your life, from the length of the pants, to the narrow waist pulled close to his body with a black belt and a shining gold buckle. He’s got purple and gold trimmed around the black of his pants and vest. He’s not wearing a coat so much as a fucking cape around his shoulders.

An honest to god cape. With those shoulder things with golden dangly bits. You just cannot fathom why he has such clothing in the first place, or why he looks so good in it. Suddenly you feel like you’re the one out of place. Aradia looks amazing in her dark red, thigh hugging slinky dress. Feferi looks like a queen in her sparkling cream colored dress and the dark curls of her short hair held back from her face with a glittering dove pin. Eridan looks like a prince right out of a fairytale book. And you?

You’re just the guy who buys regular clothing from the store. If it works, you wear it. You feel like a peasant surrounded by nobility and the feeling is almost crippling. The two of you stand by the table, waiting as Feferi looks to Eridan.

He’s staring at you. He’s looking at you and you can’t read his face. His lips are pressed into a firm line, and his eyebrows are furrowed, but you can’t tell if what is in those eyes is disapproval, disgust, or interest. You swallow nervously and step sideways, away from the table and your seat. Your role now was to greet him. Greet him with charm and a smile, Feferi had said.

But how could you talk with your throat so dry?

In one smooth motion that makes his cape whirl out behind him, Eridan turns around and walks back the way he came. Your heart drops out of your chest as Feferi rushes after him.

You have to hold onto the table for support. You can barely hear them over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, pounding so loudly as if to make up for being stopped just seconds before.

“What are you doing? Get back in here! It’s rude to just walk out of a dinner party like this, Eridan!”

“Rude? _Rude_? You know what’s rude, Fef? Rude is when you get ambushed by your ex into havin’ a _dinner party_ with the fuckin’ asshole you don’t think is deservin’ a you!”

“Oh don’t you dare say that about Dave. He is a very sweet man. He’s charming and funny and he really likes you Eridan!”

“I don’t give a _fuck_ about how much he likes me, Fef. I’m not goin’ to talk to an asshole, who ropes in my _ex-fiance_ into givin’ him advice on how to deal with me.” There’s this disgusted “ugh” noise he gives, followed by a, “I shoulda known somethin’ was up when he started takin’ so fuckin’ long to text me back all suddenly like that.”

You look to Aradia, who has sat back down with an annoyed sigh. “She was,” you manage to say the words, getting her attention. “She was his fiancé?”

“Hm? Oh, Feferi? Yeah. They almost got married years ago. Even made it to the final week of wedding planning. But then she met me.” She shrugs, “They’ve been trying to work out their issues for years since.”

You rush away from the table, following after Feferi and Eridan with your mind scrambling. They’re at the door to the elevator already, with Feferi standing in the way to keep it from closing and an annoyed Eridan inside. He sees you round the corner out of the garden and scowls. You run up to Feferi’s side and pull her back.

“Hey!” she shouts, “I’m trying to help you!”

“Damnit,” you curse, “Just let me fucking fix things on my own, all right?” You slip inside of the elevator and the doors close without her.

Eridan glares bullets at you, arms folded across his chest tightly.

You run a hand through your hair, messing up the way that Feferi combed and combed it. “Look,” you begin, “I had no clue.”

That just makes him tighten his lips even more into a scowl.

“I had no clue about any of that,” you say, desperate for something more than a scowl. “I just knew you knew her. I didn’t know how well, based on your picture. She had never talked about you before, and you hadn’t said anything about her either. I just figured you were friends, like John and I were a long time ago, but then something fucked it up I guess.” You take a step towards him, but he takes a step back so he’s against the elevator wall.

“Eridan,” you take a moment to swallow your pride. “I’m desperate over here. I don’t know how to show you or tell you anything without being stupidly blunt about it so I’m going to.” You take another step towards him, close enough to rest your hand on his arm. “I’m crazy about you. I’m fucked up crazy about you. I’ve been fucking around with my life for years, doing shit that didn’t make me a great person or make me really a happy one either.

“You were right when you said I didn’t care about myself. I didn’t. I don’t. I’ll get shitfaced drunk one night and hate myself for the next week after I do it, but I’ll do it again later because I don’t give a fuck about me. The truth is I gave up. I gave up on thinking I was really worth anything more than fucking people because I ruined shit I had no business being a part of from the beginning and because my best friend decided I wasn’t worth the effort to care about either.”

For some reason, that’s what cracks through his scowl. His eyebrows raise slowly and he shakes his head, “Dave-,”

“Wait, please, let me say everything,” You lift your hand and put it over his mouth. “There’s a lot of shit I need to stop doing and to get over, but for a long time I thought there wasn’t any reason to do so. I figured there wasn’t any purpose in having a friend you didn’t fuck because what could I get from that? I didn’t think I was worth friendship. And, yeah, I still think that way a lot. But you’ve done something to me, Eridan. It’s like you just walked in with your stupid tight pants and sat yourself down right square in the middle of my brain. You lifted your nose into the air and said, ‘I’ll clean this shit up, sure thing, but I ain’t doin’ it for fuckin’ free’.

“When you first told me about the friend dating, I figured you were just fucking with me, I figured that if we kept seeing each other, you would break down and we’d end up in bed together. I didn’t think that I would be the one to fall for you so damn hard.” You look up at him, trying to make these words work together, to make sense. You feel like you’re just babbling now, but you can’t stop yourself. “When you walked out on me that Saturday, I hated myself like I’ve never hated anything or anyone else before in my life. I was just so fed up with my behavior. I made myself sick, just thinking about how I… I … I took advantage of you like that. Cause that’s what I did. I made a choice and I knew you wouldn’t like it, but I did it anyway because my self-control is shot all to hell.”

You shake your head and look down. “Look, all I’m trying to say is that I fucked up. I fucked up really badly with you, and I was pretty fucked up to begin with, but could you please, please give me another chance? I need you in my life.”

You pull your hand away from his mouth and look at your palm. His lips had been chapped just a little, but you kind of liked that.

He shuffles around with his pockets instead of replying to you. You watch as he pulls out his phone and pushes a few buttons. Then he holds it up and says, “This is that message you sent me when you were drunk, remember that?”

You remember, vaguely, that he told you about a message you’ve left him, but you still don’t recall what it says.

There’s some static as the message plays, and then there’s your drunken voice, “Hey… Heeey Eridan, buddy, baby, I got.. haha. I got a fucking secret to talk to wait no, to tell you.” There’s more noise, like you’re moving the phone from one ear to the next. “Ya’ list’nin’? Cause this is a huge-ass secret. You can’t fuckin’ tell no one cause, well shit they might not believe you anyway, fuck it okay let’s just. Wait.” There’s a pause and some laughter from you, “Not that they won’t believe you ‘cause it’s you but cause it’s me, right. Right, ok, the secret. Enough ramblin’, Dave, time to get down to bid’ness. Huns will not defeat th‘mselves, got it.”

There’s a deep breath, and a long exhale and then a soft, whisper, “It’s been like barely a week since we met but I’m crazy for you. Crazy in a bad way. Crazy in a I’m going to fuck it up pretty bad way. I think I love…well, gonna be hon’st here, babe, I don’t think it at all. I’m pretty fuckin’ sure that I love you. Love you like I’d let you kick me outta your car half-dressed and all kinds’a drunk and still call you in the morning askin’ for more. Baby, Eridarling, Eridear, I’m in love with you and I’ve got to tell you now before I fuck ev’rythin’ up. But it’s a secret, so don’t let anyone know. Promise me?”

The message cuts off shortly after that.

Eridan turns his phone away from you and you hear the computerized voice say “message saved”. He hangs up on it shortly after, you assume, and puts his phone back into his pocket. The two of you stand in silence in the elevator as it descends to the bottom of the building. As the elevator nears the fifth floor, Eridan sighs and says, “I believe you. I believe that you’re sorry and that you’re fucked up and you love me. An’ while I believe you, I want to take a chance with you, but I’m also kind of fucked up too.

“Fef an’ I weren’t just engaged, Dave. We were a day from getting hitched when she ran off.  She went out with her friends an’ did that bachelorette party shit, an’ that’s where she met Aradia. The next day while everyone was gettin’ the weddin’ put together, they hopped on the cruise that was for our honeymoon and sailed off together. I was the one who had to walk up to the alter an’ tell everyone the weddin’ was off. I didn’t hear from her for months after that, an’ when I did, it turns out she’d sailed off and gotten married on the beach, jumpin’ over a bonfire in nothing but a bikini top an’ a grass skirt.” Eridan rubs his forehead and looks away, “Since then I haven’t fuckin’ dated anyone. Not romantically speakin’. An’ I haven’t considered it until you.”

The elevator hits the bottom floor and the doors open.  Automatically, you step towards them. Eridan shakes his head and sweeps out before you, cave moving out behind his shoulders. You walk with him through the lobby and past the doorman. Out on the street Eridan says, “So, if you’re really willin’ to try this shit out then let’s try. Friend dates are not workin’ for us, and honestly I want something more from you than that.”

You’re smiling, you can feel it on your face. You reach over and grab his hand, to stop him from walking so fast towards his car. He turns and looks at you. “So real dates then? Romantic dates?”

He gives you a little smile and leans in, kissing you lightly on the lips, “Yes. Romantic dates.”

“Can we start tonight?” you whisper eagerly, “We’re all dressed up, why not? Come on Eridan, our first romantic date?”

But he shakes his head. “No. Not tonight. Tonight has Fef’s perfume stink all over it. Tomorrow though, tomorrow for sure.”

“Tomorrow I have to go over to my mom’s house for dinner,” you say.

“Yes.” Eridan says with a light in his eyes that both scares and delights you, “I remember.”

He opens his car door and says, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”

You nod eagerly and lean in for another kiss. This one is a little longer than the last and sweeter too. He squeezes your hand in his and you can feel him smiling against your mouth. Yet he still has to pull away and get into his car. You watch as he pulls out of his parking spot and away to traffic. You’re floating on cloud nine as you go to your own car.

It was time to fucking celebrate, and you knew just the dance club to do it in.

* * *

She’s got eyes bright as street lamps as she looks at you in the near darkness of your bedroom. She’s warm skin and lithe legs and a familiar laughter. You’re still in classy as fuck slacks and with too much alcohol in your blood than is good for you.

She’s soft and willing and it’s been so, _so_ fucking long since you’ve had sex. You’ve been aching for this, needing it so badly. A good, fun tumble in the sheets to get your last mess up out of your mind and out of your bones. There’s a reason your last one was so fucked up, but you can’t remember it right now. You can’t remember anything except how to make a girl scream for you.

This one drags her nails down your back like claws when she does.


	11. Bartering

You’ve got sheets tangled around your legs.

There’s an arm over your chest and breath against your skin.

The sun is pouring in through the window to your bedroom, and with your eyes closed, it’s just added warmth across  your body.

Everything’s quiet.

Then you hear the front door shut and a questioning voice call out, “Dave?”

Your eyes snap open and you hiss loudly at the pain of sudden bright light. You cringe, roll over and pull away from the body in your bed. The sheet is tangled on your fucking feet, still, and so when you try to roll out of bed, you land knee and elbow first on the ground with a loud thump and a groan. The girl on your bed-- who the fuck was it again?—mumbles something and you hiss at her to shut up.

There comes that voice again, “Dave? You in? I brought you somethin’. Also I know it’s kinda early, but I was thinkin’ that we could go out for a bit, before we went to your mom’s.” It’s getting closer, coming in from the kitchen, towards  your bedroom. You look up with your heart in your throat. The door to your bedroom is wide open. You twist around to get the damn sheets off your fucking feet. Panic has a tight grip on your throat.

Unknowing of what you had done, Eridan continues talking into your apartment, “Not out to eat, so we don’t spoil our appetites, but to the range. You handled Betty so well, I figured that you’d like to be introduced into some a the smaller calibers I got.”

You get your feet loose but its too damn late. You scramble to your feet and there he is in the doorway. He’s got one hand on the doorjam and in the other he’s holding, oh you can’t fucking _believe_ it. He’s holding a glass bottle of apple juice. The good kind, if that label on the side is accurate. He’s there looking at you and you _know_ what you look like. Kneeling on the floor by your bed, naked except for your left damn sock, with scratches across your shoulders and hips and a kiss bitten mouth; oh you know what he sees.

“Shit,” you whisper, lifting your hand up from the ground to cover half of your face. “ _Shit.”_ He was going to walk out on you again. He was going to walk away and you were going to have lost him twice and who the fuck really gives anyone a third chance? You’re sure as fuck that you wouldn’t give _you_ a third chance.

From the bed the girl, fucking Nepeta your mind viciously reminds you, _I-just-turned-eighteen-isn’t-that-great-Dave?_ -Nepeta is lying naked in your bed, waking up and sitting up. “Um, Dave? What’s going on?”

You look up to her and then turn to look at Eridan and you only see his backside as he turns away. No words this time? It’s only what you deserve, really.

Nepeta’s covering herself up with her sheet, her cheeks redder than you’ve ever seen before. “Uh, I think you should probably go, Nepeta.”

“Oh, but,” She bites her lip. Those green eyes that you thought so beautiful last night go wide and pleading. It’s a look that you’ve seen plenty of times, that begging puppy dog eyed look. “I thought maybe we could clean up together? Maybe have some pancakes or something?”

“I’m sorry,” you jump at the sound of Eridan’s voice. He’s taken off his coat so he’s just in his button down shirt and you swear to god those are gun holsters on his hips. One of them is empty. He’s got a glass of apple juice in one hand, as he leans a shoulder against the doorway, and in his other he’s holding a pistol. “But I’d really rather not you strung out your one night stand with my boyfriend,” Eridan says, his words and icy gaze directed to Nepeta.

“Is that a gun?” She asks in a small voice, hiding behind your sheets more. The begging eyes are gone, replaced with frightened ones.

“Yes it is. A nice little gun that puts nice little holes in the heads of not-so-nice little girls.” He lifts it up and admires the gun. “Maybe you should go, so I can have a chat with Dave.”

Nepeta’s scrambling for her clothing, some cute little dress and jacket that are on opposite sides of the room. You stay on the floor where you are, frozen, trying to think. Nepeta gets close to you for a moment and says, “Should I call the police when I go?”

You shake your head. You give her your best, most calm expression and even a little smile. “Don’t worry about it. Just go home quick, so your parents don’t worry.”

She reaches out to touch your arm but you pull away before she can. She shrinks in on herself and stands up, hurrying towards the doorway with her head down. She stops, right as she passes Eridan, and says firmly, looking up into his eyes, “Don’t you hurt him. Don’t you dare hurt him!”

“Trust me,” Eridan says in a voice that makes you shiver, “If I hurt him, he’ll be beggin’ me for more.” He sneers at her and she pulls away. Maybe thirty seconds after she vanishes from sight, you hear the door open and shut again.

The time it took for her to dress and leave, you’ve regained some ability to think again. You grab some boxers from the floor and tug them on as you stand up to face Eridan. He stays in the doorway, watching you.  You hear ice clink in his drink as he lifts it to his lips. He sucks the cup dry. You hear the crunch of ice cubes as he chews on them. He walks into the room, putting the glass on your desk as he does so. “So last night, when you told me you love me, was that bullshit or do I really have a claim to you?”

You lift your chin. For some reason, even though apology and contrite behavior is what your brain is telling you to do, your heart, your instincts are saying something else: _don’t back down._ “You’ve got a claim, just as long as you’re willing to accept responsibility for what that means.”

“And what does that contain, exactly? Do I have to clean up your messes like a dog, Dave? Because I didn’t think I was goin’ to be romancin’ a dog. I was certain I was goin’ to be courtin’ a man.” Up comes his arm with the gun, he rests his wrist on your shoulder, leaning in close as he talks to you. You feel the cold barrel of the gun against your shoulder blade.

You push against his chest, but he doesn’t go back very far. “I’m not a dog, Eridan. It means that I’ve got fucking needs and if you can’t handle taking care of them, all the fancy dinners in the world in cute little caves won’t be worth it. I had stars in my eyes last night with you in your little princely cape, but it’s the cold hard truth this morning.” You grab a fistful of his shirt, because you don’t want him to pull away from you at what you have to say, “And the truth is that I need more than pretty words and friend kisses, and if you want me to be your boyfriend, like you said to her, then those are your responsibility.”

You barely get the word out of your mouth before his lips are on yours. Or, to be more accurate, his tongue is in your mouth. You’re being pushed backwards from his chest and his hips and you move willingly. When the back of your knees hit your bed, it only takes a little prodding on his part for you to go down onto the mattress. You push yourself up on your elbows, looking up at him from the dangerous side of his gun and grin.

“Here are a few little rules, Dave,” Eridan’s voice is husky and soft, “The first is this. We don’t have sex until you’ve been dry for a year.”

“A year?” You snap, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I can make it two,” He says coldly, “do you want it to be two?”

You clench your teeth and say, “Three months.”

“A year.”

You give a little ground and say, “Five months.”

He gets this little smile on his lips, “Nine months.”

“Three months to the first handjob, six to the blowjob and nine to intercourse. Rutting we can do from the get-go,” you love it when your brain catches up to the situation and then fucking gets ahead of it. Eridan considers this for a while and then nods.

“Acceptable.” He kneels on the bed with one knee, “Second thing, I’m figurin’ you went out drinkin’ an’ that’s where you picked up little hotshot last night. You don’t drink without me. You don’t go partyin’ without me. Why? Cause I can’t fuckin’ trust you, Dave. That’s partly not your fault, considerin’ the last one I trusted decided to go to Jamaica and get married to someone other than me. Anyway, I can’t trust you not to drop your pants for the hottest thing you see walkin’ by so you don’t go out without me. Understood?”

You give him your best lewd grin, “Are you going to collar me, babe? Because I think your petplay kink is showing.”

Your heart skips a beat when that makes a blush crawl across his cheeks. When you get right down to it, what _do_ you know about his kinks? Fucking nothing, really.

“And for my third and final rule,” he pushes the gun against your chest, right up to your sternum, and pulls back the hammer. You never thought the click of metal could be so hot and so frightening at the same time. “You’re mine, Dave, an’ I won’t tolerate you bendin’ over and fuckin’ anyone else while you’re mine. If I _do_ ever catch you with another person, your brains and their brains will be splattered on a wall like modernist abstract paintin's. Have I made myself clear?”

Your hips move on their own, squirming in the bed as you get the words out from your too tight throat, “Crystal, sir.” You can’t help the sir. It drops out without any instruction from your brain at all.

Eridan seems to like it, though, because he lifts the gun away and uncocks his gun. He checks the side of it, probably the safety says the last functioning part of your brain, and he slips it back into his holster. He leans down and kisses you again.

He’s on his hands and knees over you on the bed, kissing you, biting your lips and then dragging his mouth down. He’s at the unmarked side of your neck, and you groan loudly as he fixes that little problem. You’re lightheaded and ready for more when he lifts his head and whispers, “Go take a shower, Dave, you stink of sex with that girl. An’ besides, we have a date to go on.”

Then he’s gone and you’re cold, lying on the bed in your boxers with a boner and he’s to blame. Again.

He laughs as you curse at him, throwing your pillow at his back in futility.

God. You _love_ him.


End file.
